The Lost Boys
by LoveTheCumberBatch
Summary: SUPERWHOLOCK FIC.When Amy Pond finds herself in the middle of a good ole ghost hunt, the Winchesters get themselves tangled up in a deadly trap that seems too much like a fairytale. With the help of the 221B boys, the Doctor, and the Winchesters, Amy and the boys face a vengeful demon that has an all too familiar face. Early Amy w/o Rory; s5 Team Free Will AU; Sherlock post Riechen
1. Out of Thin Air

_The Lost Boys-A SuperWhoLock Story_

_reviews, comments, and all around love always welcome. Enjoy!_

The twilight chill of the Michigan night seeped through the Winchesters' jackets, making every silent minute seem drawn out in the dewy morning. It was a late night for a hunt, the promise of the motel bed becoming more enticing after the hours of scouting. Together, the Winchesters were laying low in a patch of woods that sat opposite of a small house, waiting for their opportunity to finish their job. Off in the distance under the pooling brightness of a farmlight, stood a tall white-walled farmhouse, captivating the attentions of the Winchesters.

Sam yawned, taking his hand off his gun to cover his mouth. "Hey," he whispered. Dean looked away from the field as Sam tapped his wrist for the time. Checking his watch, Dean signaled 2:54. Nodding, Sam brought his gaze back to the field they had been watching for the last four hours. The house looked strange standing alone off the dirt road, not having a barn or even a garage to characterize it. Instead of being used for a farm, it had been renovated into the town's museum, which currently housed the one object a vengeful ghost clung onto.

"Hey." Sam's eyes sprung open when Dean nudged his arm, the grip on his gun tightening automatically. "The porchlight." Focusing ahead, Sam watched the light flicker then burn out. He looked back to Dean for the go ahead, recognizing the spirit must be nearby. Dean nodded, beginning to get up from his crouching position and push away the branch in front of him.

A shout broke the air, followed by a hard thud in the field between where the Winchesters were and the farmhouse. Sam tensed, his knuckles turning white around his gun before he turned to Dean, confused.

"What was that?" Sam mouthed.

Before Dean could shrug in response, a bright red head rose from the field. Dean waved for Sam to look, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

"Is that a girl?" Dean murmured dumbfounded, moving the branch to get a better look. Sam shook his head, not sure what he was seeing either.

"Hello?" a woman's voice called hesitantly. She began to rise to her feet shakily, looking between the patch of woods to the farmhouse. "Is someone there?"

"Can she see us?" Sam asked.

"No, but," Dean blinked confusedly at Sam, "how'd she get there?"

The girl spun towards the woods then, making them freeze. "Hello?" she asked again in a quieter tone. "If someone's there…" She began to take dizzy steps towards them, making Sam suppose she wasn't sober. Behind her, the farmlight had begun to flicker, the only light source around besides the weak moonlight. Turning from the woods, the girl looked to the farmhouse. Looking back to the woods briefly, she started walking over to the house. The closer she got to the farmhouse the more the farmlight flickered.

"Oh great," Dean whispered. "Don't think old Mrs. Erler likes trespassers."

"We gotta get her outta here," Sam said. "Old Mrs. Erler might get mad enough to attack her."

Before they could set a foot out of the woods, the girl gave a shriek, tumbling backwards in the grass. Halfway across the field, the girl stared up at the wispy silhouette of the evil spirit, a vengeful farmer's widow. The farmlight flickered out in front of them, the field and the farmhouse quickly thrown into shadows.

Dean grimaced, starting at a jog to where the ghost and the girl were. "Hey. Hey lady!"

"A little help!" she yelled back. Dimly, Sam watched the spirit raise her arm slowly at the girl, about to attack.

Sam switched on his flashlight while running, flicking the beam back and forth to find her. "There," he pointed for Dean.

"Lady, duck!" In the thin streak of Sam's flashlight, the redhead in the grass ducked low. Dean stopped and shoved the butt of the sawed-off into his shoulder and shot at the spirit. Its figure vanished as the salt round struck. Dean lowered his gun slightly, searching ahead for the girl in the field.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam ran ahead, bending down next to her. Shining the flashlight by her, he could see she was fairly young, no older than twenty-one. Her eyes were wide and panicked looking up at him.

"Well, I almost got it from a…ghost," she said breathlessly. "Was that really a ghost?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, standing over them, "and we're gonna kill it."

The girl gave him a strange look then turned to Sam for some form of confirmation. "You're going to kill it?"

"C'mon," Sam stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it, looking up at his extremely tall figure once on her feet. "We've gotta get you outta here."

"Sam!" Dean barked, raising his rifle. Sam pressed the girl to the side, the crack of another shot ringing through the field.

"We've gotta get that quilt," Sam said hurriedly to his brother, loading another salt round.

"I'll get into the house and grab it. You watch little miss sunshine here. Lady," Dean stared her down sternly, "You stay here with him. He'll keep you alive, 'kay? So don't try anything stupid." Sam rolled his eyes in the dark as she nodded nervously at him. Dean gave a quick, 'You-got-my-back?' look to Sam which he nodded to shortly in response.

"Is he always that rude?" the girl grumbled behind Sam, watching Dean walk off towards the farmhouse.

Sam scoffed, scanning the field for the vengeful farmer's widow. "Not usually." Glancing back at her for a moment, he was quietly surprised at how well she was handling being thrown in the middle of a hunt. "Hey, hold this, would you?" From his left hand he handed her the flashlight. "Just follow where I'm going." She nodded, holding the flashlight with steady hands. "What's your name?"

"Amy," she said, focusing on the dark corners that the flashlight couldn't reach. "So…where exactly are we? Some weird ghost hunting grounds?"

Sam and Amy spun around quickly when a loud snap came from behind them. With his gun pointed rigidly ahead, he answered in a whisper, "Not exactly." He nudged the end of the rifle to the side. "Point it over there." Amy cursed the light to the left where Sam directed. At his side he heard Amy's breath falter then finally puff out in a icy cloud. She turned slightly to look over her shoulder. She gasped.

"There!" Amy shouted.

Sam turned and shot, the ghost's shrieking face no more than six feet away from them. "You good?" he asked, loading another bullet, counting in his head how many he had left.

"Yeah," Amy said, raising the flashlight with a slightly shaky hand. In the distance, the crack of Dean breaking the front door of the farmhouse resonated. "How long do we have to wait here?"

Hearing the nervous edge in her voice, Sam said, "He won't be long. Another five minutes, I'd bet." Something shifted just outside of the light of the flashlight. "You see that?"

"Yeah. It's there now." Amy moved the flashlight around, the pale figure of the spirit illuminated in the light. Before they could breathe, it rushed toward them in a cold wind. Sam's finger faltered on the trigger for a moment, giving the ghost enough time to pull the gun out of his hands. Grinning with her hollow eyes, she lifted her hand to him, jerking Sam several yards before he hit the ground. Sam's head thudded against the ground, making his head throb painfully once he tried to raise it. Opening his eyes, he tried focusing beyond the stars in his eyes. He found Amy, watching as she stumbled backwards while the spirit stalked closer. Her eyes kept darting between it and the ground where the gun lay.

"Come on," Sam heard her say with a promising amount of courage. "Just a little closer. Then you can…walk through me or, whatever ghosts do." Sam squinted his eyes at the ache on the side of his head, unsure what she was doing. The flashlight remained steady in her hand as she positioned herself so the house was to her back. As the spirit came closer to Amy, he realized what she was doing. Directly behind the spirit the sawed off rifle sat; she was going to dive for the gun.

Amy stopped walking backwards, standing right where she wanted to be. The spirit was standing no more than two feet away from her. Lifting himself on his elbow, Sam watched this crazy girl with anxious eyes.

Between gritted teeth, the evil spirit gave a shriek and reached for her red-head. Amy ducked, letting go of the flashlight and diving into the ghost's translucent figure, landing on top of the gun. "You little whore!" the farmer's widow cawed at her. It turned around, standing over Amy. This girl was quick though, shoving the butt of the gun into her shoulder and pointing up at it. Not waiting for what else the ghost had to say, she pulled the trigger hard.

"Whoa," he said under his breath, more than a little amazed by this Amy. Sam could only figure now that this girl must be a hunter by how easily she reacted. Any other girl who could drop out of the sky like that would be terrified of anything that ran towards them. This girl was a pretty good exception to that as far as he could figure.

"Are you okay?" she called out to him, getting up on her feet and walking towards him.

"Yeah, I'm good," he grimaced, lifting himself up. "You're a pretty good shot. Or at least a risky one."

She shrugged. "Don't really want to be ghost bait. Here, I think you're better with this, anyway."

Just as he was about to take the rifle, Sam glanced over her shoulder, alarmed. "Hey, hey behind you!" Not thinking, she turned around, the gun suddenly clumsy in her hands. Sam snatched it quickly, not giving an extra thought to shooting this thing. By the time Sam was able to put his finger on the trigger it was in too close of range, grabbing a handful of Amy's hair and pulling her towards the ground. Amy shouted painfully, trying to push away the spirit's intangible hands.

"Do something!" she yelled up at Sam. Pulling his arm back, Sam hefted the gun down onto the spirit, the iron barrel making it pull away and disappear. Amy landed hard on her knees, taking in a gulp of air. "Oh my God."

"Come on, we gotta keep a look out," Sam tried to encourage her. He helped Amy up, pulling her to her feet by her shoulders. "Grab the flashlight."

"Think it's been more than five minutes for him," she winced, rubbing her head.

He agreed. They couldn't hold this nasty, old ghost much longer that wasn't difficult to see. Sam checked the gun for how many salt rounds were left, discouraged to only see two. Not sure where the farmhouse was exactly in the dark, Sam turned to his right only slightly. "Hey Dean! Come on, hurry up!"

Sam couldn't make out what Dean yelled back, but guessed it wasn't something too encouraging. A rush of cold air hit his face, telling him the ghost was nearby. "Do you see it?" he murmured to Amy. He followed the light she cursed around the field, not seeing anything. To the side of them the woods began to rattle violently with an unnatural wind.

Amy brought the light darting over to the trees. "Over there," she directed. Sam didn't take a chance to wait around and see for himself, aiming in the direction she pointed and shot. He lowered the rifle, waiting for the moment this stupid spirit would burn up for good. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw something move. Amy gasped, pointing the flashlight in the opposite direction of the woods. In the beam, there stood the widow's angry spirit. "Maybe not," she confessed uneasily.

Sam raised the rifle and shot, but the spirit had moved before the round hit it. "Great," he said under his breath. The flashlight skimmed back and forth, unable to find the spirit.

"What? Please tell me you aren't being sarcastic."

"I'm out of salt rounds." Sam reached for the girl's arm. "Here, get behind me."

"What are we gonna do, just wait here? What about your friend?" The panic had begun to rise in her voice. "What are we gonna do?"

"Just stay behind me," he said much more calmly than he actually felt. Sam heard her swallow hard behind him. Amy continued to scan across the field, not for the sake of finding the spirit, but, as Sam guessed, as a hope it couldn't be found and had left.

"The light," she stumbled to say, "It's going out." The thin beam the flashlight made had begun to flicker slowly.

"Hey Dean!" Sam shouted.

"What's it gonna do to us?" she whispered. Sam watched the light, the breaks in the beam becoming longer and longer.

"We'll be okay."

The flashlight gave one lasting flicker, the bulb finally snuffed by the spirit.

"The light-"

"Shhh," he whispered. Sam could only make out the weak outlines of the blades of grass around them, the farmhouse and the woods not even visible in the cloudy twilight. Their breaths were silent so not to break the pristine quiet that was thrown over the field. He had no idea where or when this spirit could attack. Behind Sam, he felt the girl reach a hand for his arm, grasping it tightly.

Just as the stillness seemed almost unbearable, a piercing scream broke the silence. The hand on Sam's arm clutched, his head snapping to the side where a burning light illuminated the field. No more then a few feet from Sam and Amy, the spirit of the farmer's widow coursed with fire. Her arms flew into the air as she faded away, making Sam breath easier.

"Oh my God," he breathed, looking back to the petrified girl with a relieved smile. "It's gone now." She looked up to him with wide doe eyes, not quite believing him. "See, she disintegrated."

"Wait…that was her?" She stared dumbfounded between Sam and where the spirit burned up. "You're sure?"

He nodded back. "Yeah, we're safe. Um…" Sam glanced down to her clutching hands on his biceps, "You mind?" He didn't mean to say it meanlike, being more embarrassed by her grip.

"Oh, right." She let go right away, rubbing the sweat on her palms onto her pant legs. "Sorry." Sam gave her an assuring smile, looking up from her face to the massive tangle of ginger hair above.

"Is your head okay? Looked like she was trying to rip it all out for a second there," he asked.

Amy rubbed her head, combing her fingers through the mess. "Nothing some pain killers can't fix. I'm okay." Her bright eyes squinted up at him, making Sam feel like he was being read like a book. "You took quite a tumble there, too. How's your head?"

Sam bent down to wipe the as much of the grass stains off his pants, his head becoming dizzy as he stood back up. "Throbbing," Sam said honestly. He tucked the rifle under his arm, starting over towards the farmhouse. Sam could see the small fire Dean had made of the quilt just in front of the porch. He flinched when he pulled his fingers through his hair. "Geez it feels like a goose egg."

"Let me see." Amy stopped him, making him bend down without saying hardly a command. He was startled to see this girl, who he couldn't even remember her name, start running her fingers into his hair. When her fingers hit the goose egg, he flinched again, making her frown. "Yeah, I'd say you're gonna need a little more than some pain killers for that."

"There's ice in the cooler, should help." Sam stood up straight and looked down on this girl with the fiery ginger hair. They started walking again to the farmhouse, quiet for a moment. Sam sighed, knowing he was going to have to ask sometime or another. "Sorry, but…what was your name again?"

Her shoulders rose a little higher as she looked up at him. "Amy. Amy Pond."

_Thanks for reading! Expect new chapters soon!_


	2. Graveyard Shift

_a/n I've gotten quite a response from the first chapter; so happy to see that! I have a lot of faith in this fic, and I'm sure you'll enjoy it._

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Dean looked up from the smoking remains of the quilt, watching the silhouettes of Sam and the mystery girl approach him. He no longer felt the chill of the night air, the sweat underneath his jacket from kicking the door down and searching for the ratty quilt sticking to his body. Looking back to the fire, he spit.

"Hey," Sam shouted out to him. Dean turned his head, only able to make out his towering figure in the dark. "What took you? The quilt was right there in the case, right?"

Dean raised a finger to Sam. "It was tucked away nice and tidy in a freakin' safe, jackass," he snuffed back cheekily. "You know the last time I broke into a safe like that? Years. Think their hiding the holy grail in there it was so heavy-duty. I'd say I deserve a damn pat on the back." Both Sam and the girl were visible in the in the firelight then, making Sam's eye roll evident to Dean. He raised an eyebrow to his little brother. "Oh, so you think playing tag with the ghost was harder?"

Sam threw his arms up in the air. "It didn't exactly play fair, if that's what you're saying," he grumbled.

He raised both his eyebrows, a smile breaking. "Did it kick your ass, Sammy?" Dean smirked, glancing over to the girl. "I bet you had to take over for him, right?"

"I did happen to help out," the girl replied defensively. Dean gave her a look of surprise mostly out of sarcasm. He could tell she had noted the sarcasm, only returning a hardened stare at him. He looked to Sam for some sort of approval, starting to wonder who the heck this girl was.

"She's a better shot than she looks," Sam shrugged.

Nodding, Dean gave her a second glance, noticing her slender waist and mini skirt. "Well," Dean started matter-of-factly, turning back to the fire, "Seems I underestimated the lady who fell out of the sky." Turning back to her, Dean saw she wasn't paying attention to him, her gaze on the burning quilt they were standing around.

"So you had to burn up a quilt…to kill a ghost." She looked up to Dean then to Sam when Dean didn't answer her.

"Uh, well, we had to burn the remains. Usually it's a corpse," –Dean saw her recoil slightly when Sam said 'corpse', making Dean smirk slightly- "but the spirit…Mrs. Erler, had been cremated. So, this is what remained of her." Sam, his hands deep in his pockets, returned Amy's gaze. "That's how you kill evil spirits."

She nodded slowly back, staring back at the fire quizzically. "Right. Not weird at all."

"Yeah, speaking of weird," Dean said, "how the hell did you just drop out of thin air like that, lady?"

Her gaze became stern on him. "Look," she snapped, wrapping her arms across her chest, "my name isn't 'lady.' My name's Amy. And I didn't drop off; I just…" She pursed her lips, determined. "I happened to be there before."

Dean scoffed at her. "In the middle of a field at...three in the morning? We've been scouting here all night, and trust me anyone could see your hair a mile away."

"Well then…" she faltered, running a hand through her hair, "I don't really know." She tugged at her plaid button-down shirt for more warmth. "Didn't really plan on learning how to kill a ghost tonight, anyways. Is it really killing them? I mean, they're already dead."

Dean paused to answer her, seeing from her flickering gaze that she was hiding something. "Can't really tell," he eventually replied. "My name's Dean, by the way. This is my brother Sam." Knowing this Amy girl was keeping secrets about blatantly questionable things made Dean suspicious of her. She just didn't make sense, dropping out of the sky like a wished upon star.

Amy nodded back to both of them, but didn't say anything. To Dean it looked as though she was deeply processing something or at least choosing her words carefully. "Okay," she sighed, "This is gonna sound like a really stupid question, but," Amy hesitated, "What year is this?" She seemed pained to ask them, making Dean's eyebrows burrow confusedly.

"You forgot what _year_ it is?"

"Just humor me," Amy replied back, "Please."

Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam. He only shrugged, just as thrown off as his brother. Looking back to Amy, he tried to figure her out by looking her over with a calculating eye. Finally, he told her the date.

Amy's regretful appearance suddenly turned to confusion. "You're joking!"

More stumped than her, Dean threw his arms in the air. "You got me," he said exasperatedly.

"But that doesn't make sense." She shook her head, beginning to pace around the fire. "The angel should have-"

"Wh- did you say an angel?" Sam stopped her, cocking his head to the side. "Did an angel zap you here?" The Winchesters undividedly waited for Amy to answer. She stopped pacing now, standing on the other side of the fire, looking back at them with a skeptical eye.

"Yeah," she managed to say. "I must've blinked and it touched me. How do you know about the angels?"

Sam managed a weak smile at her. "It's been a long year of crazy," he said.

Amy didn't hear him, though, caught in her own thoughts. "I thought it would've put me in some random dimension, but…this is so great. It must not have been powerful enough; so the Doc…my friends can find me now." Amy looked up to Sam. "This is America, right?"

Sam nodded. Even after understanding that an angel made her land in the middle of their hunt, she still wasn't making much sense to the Winchesters.

"Right," she confirmed, "I was in London when it zapped me, but why would it-"

"Listen, Amy," Dean broke in, "Was this angel a guy? He'd have, um, black hair, big trench coat, sappy blue eyes," he listed off.

Amy's hopeful face dimmed in confusion. Dean watched a shiver run up her arms, making him want to shuck his sweaty leather jacket off and give it to her. "Some guy?" she asked. " No, I'm talking about the big clawed monsters. The stone things."

Dean couldn't figure if she was being sarcastic with him, making him briefly imagine Castiel with claws like she described. A smile flickered on the corner of his mouth, disappearing before she could notice.

"Um," Sam said, bewildered, "I think we might be talking about two different things then."

Amy opened her mouth to say something back to Sam, but her mouth shut, suddenly reluctant to say anymore. Before Dean could ask her another question, the whine of sirens off in the distance rang across the field. Dean cursed, looking around him for something to put out the fire. "Dammit. We gotta book it," he said. Dean resorted to stomping on the remaining pieces of the quilt, the flames dangerously close to his leg. He silently hoped these weren't the jeans that he spilled gasoline on.

"It doesn't matter, come on," Sam urged. "This way," he pointed for Amy. Just as the police car pulled into the dirt drive to the old farmhouse, the Winchesters and Amy ducked into the woods, the red and blue lights reflecting against their bright eyes.

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_Next chapter will be out soon with a change of scenery, and really bringing in the superwholock!_


	3. Pull My Finger

_ Time to bring in the boys of 221B and of course our favorite Time Lord! The support I have gotten from this has absolutely blown me away and I thank all you guys for reading. Enjoy!_

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_Somewhere in London_

Standing rigidly in a narrow hallway, John Watson inhaled a shuddering breath. He had been holding his breath for nearly a minute, feeling a numbing guilt tighten across his chest. It couldn't have been him; he had only batted his eyes for a moment, less than a second.

"Aha! I think I found it," a cheery voice called out far behind John. "Someone unplugged the TARDIS's fueling engine to plug in a…coffee machine!" He paused, rattling something heavy. "Who would plug in the coffee, I hate coffee. In any case, this seems to solve most our problems…" He continued to bumble on, but he was out of earshot for the army doctor.

"John," Sherlock murmured next to John, his shoulder brushing him just barely. "John, is she-?"

So it had to be him. Sherlock's near mechanical instincts wouldn't have let his eyes falter for a moment, never letting the stone angels out of his sight. The burden of John's mistake made his jaw clench and his eyes burn fiercely. "I didn't mean to, Sherlock," he whispered between gritted teeth. "I didn't mean to-"

"But she's gone? Amy was touched by one of the angels." Knowing him so long, John could just barely hear the nervous tremor in his friend's voice.

John hesitated to answer, a knot in his throat. "Yes. Amy's gone."

Sherlock released a heavy breath through his nose, silent. John wondered if he had let his friend down, hadn't maintained the standard he had always set for himself around the consulting detective. If Sherlock was disappointed with him, he couldn't even imagine the Doctor's reaction to him would be. He had lost Amy Pond, only by blinking an eye at three of the most dangerous beings he had ever encountered.

"Sherlock! John!" the Doctor called out to them suddenly. "Do you want any of this, it's," he stopped to take a whiff of the coffee pot, "Hazelnut! Ugh, disgusting."

"We're alright," Sherlock answered. "John, I need to blink." He nodded, widening his eyes just barely at the toothy faces of the weeping angels. John's chest loosened slightly; if Sherlock could still trust him to watch the angels for him maybe he hadn't disappointed his friend. Sherlock raised his gloved hands to his eyes, rubbing them. "John, we'll find her. She can't be far." Buried deep within Sherlock's guarantee, John could hear a sort of comforting assurance. Still, John couldn't retain that same sort of optimism.

"The Doctor said all of time and space. How is that _not_ far?" John whispered back, the guilt in his chest tightening again like the pulling of shoelaces on an ill-fitting shoe.

"John, it was a mistake," Sherlock chided him seriously. "We _will _find Amy again."

He blew a weighty breath from his lips. "Okay, okay." John readied himself for the Time Lord's anger, grasping onto the hope that Amy Pond wouldn't be out of reach for the three of them. "I have to tell him."

Sherlock straightened, his gaze raised against the angels once again. Out of the corner of John's eye he could see Sherlock nod briefly. "Doctor," Sherlock said in a raised voice, solemn but smoothly, "Doctor you should come here. It's…" Sherlock didn't finish his sentence, suddenly afraid of the Doctor's wrath as well.

"Give me two seconds. I've got to plug the fueling engine back in and get rid of this horrible brewed thing-"

"Doctor this is a bit more urgent than the coffee," John said crackily, his eyes never wavering from the angels in front of him, however they burned.

Behind them was a loud clanking then the Doctor's voice from the TARDIS quietly. "What is it?" He stuck his neck out of the TARDIS's open doors to take a look around. "Looks like you're holding the fort pretty well, I don't see…wait." The Doctor set down the heavy cords he had been carrying within the TARDIS to take a step next to the detectives. "That angel moved." The Doctor pointed at the closest angel. Like the rest of the three, its face was gnarled into a vicious expression, but it held a single finger out in the air as if pointing to one of the many mildew spots on the ceiling.

The Doctor spun around, his adventurous demeanor submitting to a worried confusion. "Amy?" he called out. He ducked high and low between the angels and down the halls, the seconds passing slowly for John and Sherlock. Finally, the Doctor stopped to look at them for an answer. "Where is she?" he asked innocently, the coffee pot still in one hand.

"Amy's gone," John said as coolly as he could manage, knowing that he had uttered a pair of very dire words.

"What? She was…" The Doctor stood there for a moment, letting the words seep in, a brokenness clouding his face. "The angels they…_No!_" The coffee pot in his hand, the Doctor threw the hazelnut coffee past the angels. The glass pot splintered against the wall, pieces flying across the narrow hallway with the hot coffee. "I told you to _not. Blink. _Not for anything, not if the universe was crashing around you and now…now…" The Doctor was at a loss for words, images of Amy's lost and terrified face screaming in his head, hearing her calling for him. Frightened and alone Amy Pond. His teeth grinded angrily, blinking back tears. "She can't be!"

"It was me, Doctor," Sherlock said in a rush. "I blinked for just a moment and she was-"

The Doctor stormed up to Sherlock and grabbed him roughly by the front of his overcoat. Sherlock's gaze turned away from the angels, looking into the scalding rage of the Time Lord's eyes. "Do you have _any idea_," the Doctor hissed viciously, shaking him, "what you have made me lose." What he had said to Sherlock was not a question, but more of a promise of the vengeance the last Time Lord was willing to inflict on him. "Do you even realize how sorry a mistake you have made, _Mr. Holmes_?"

"We can find her," Sherlock argued, his voice shaking. "I didn't do it on purpose Doctor, but we can find her again. We _have_ to."

"Do you _rea_lly think that will bring her back?" he shook him madly, his breath heavy on Sherlock's face, their noses nearly touching. "She's lost in all of time and space and you are impossible enough to think we can find one, little, lonely…" The Doctor's voice faltered, his hot face breaking with emotion. The tears in his eyes brimmed on the edge of his lashes. "Amelia Pond." His white fists let go of Sherlock's coat front, hanging defeated at his sides. "Oh, Amy."

John had been standing still during the Doctor's explosion, steadily watching the angels with a silent fear the Doctor would find that it was actually him that had caused Amy's disappearance. Sherlock had surprised him beyond belief, laying his head on the chopping block for what? Even John couldn't figure Sherlock out that deep enough. Next to him Sherlock was leaning against the wall taking deep breaths and wiping his face as the Doctor stepped away. They stood there, only breathing in the stunned silence.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock said quietly after a long stretch. "I'll watch the angels."

John's eyes burned just as much blinking them as keeping them open, making him grimace. He let go a long withdrawn breath, realizing he had been holding his breath the whole time the Doctor was yelling. With squinted eyes, John looked over to the Doctor's still figure, his back to them. His shoulders were shuddering, but John couldn't tell if he was crying. Just as John was about to reach for the Doctor's shoulder he had turned around, his eyes red-rimmed but lit with a rawly set determination.

John swallowed, bringing his hand back to his side as the Doctor pushed past him and to the angel that had touched Amy. "Doctor, I-"

"Shut up," the Doctor replied bitterly, pulling his sonic screwdriver from an inside pocket. John looked over to Sherlock, but realized he couldn't have returned a glance back. He pursed his lips and looked down at the floor, blinking a few times then returning to watch the angels. The three of them stood in silence for several moments, only the sound of the Doctor's sonic making any noise.

Watching the angels, John could also see the Doctor. He kept swiping a hand over his bangs nervously, flicking his head to the side to get them out of his eyes. He would sonic the angels finger, its face, its elbow then read the conclusion the sonic came to with the information. The more he tried, the more frustrated the Doctor became. The longer John watched, the farther away Amy seemed to them, suddenly becoming only a memory.

The Doctor read the sonic after scanning the angel's out-stretched finger for what John counted as the third time. A deep grunt of frustration rose from the Doctor's throat, not seeing anything worthwhile that would help him to find Amy. "To _hell_ with these cursed angels!" he shouted, taking the angel's finger and pulling on it furiously. He stumbled, the crack of stone taking him off guard and making him fall on his backend.

"Doctor?" John asked. "What did you just do?"

"I-" he hesitated to reply, trying to figure out what he was holding in his hand. Looking into his palm, he examined the stone pointer finger. "I pulled its finger," he stated incredulously. The Doctor couldn't help but crack a small, wavering smile.

"That shouldn't happen, though," Sherlock questioned cautiously, "If I'm correct, Doctor?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you're very right." The Doctor lifted himself off his feet and strode back to the angel with the missing finger, peering at it with a meticulous eye. "The weeping angels' number one defense is their stone camouflage which is unquestionably indestructible. Even throwing them into the middle of an exploding star would only scratch them, but…" He pieced the finger back where it belonged then took it off, "I just broke this off."

"Worth investigating," Sherlock commented.

"Nothing gets past you, Sherly." The Doctor pulled the sonic screwdriver out again, changing the setting before scanning the angel's now finger nub.

John was dumbfounded at how easily the Doctor was able to regain control of himself with just this grain of hope that they may be able to find Amy again. He had known the Doctor would have been wrathfully angry, but never expected him to be forgiving at all, or at least so willing to preoccupy himself with the curious wonders in front of him instead of the painful truths.

The sonic whirred, making him clap his hands together excitedly. "This is good, very good, this is, in fact brilliant," the Doctor glow as he reread the sonic's scan.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Well, the sonic says these angels haven't had a proper feeding of energy besides…just now, um…in nearly 2,000 years. Absolutely stellar!"

"So they're weak," Sherlock concluded.

"Not just weak they're starving! Imagine having someone placing a plate of Yorkshire pudding in front of you after you haven't eaten in a week. That's exactly how these angels have been feeling for centuries." The Doctor put his hands on his knees, looking each angel over carefully. "These three have had some rotten luck, not getting a bite to eat in quite a long time. Probably living of scraps of energy." The Doctor lifted himself looking between John and Sherlock. "But seeing the company they're in now," he paused, turning a hardened stare on the angel that had touched Amy, "I'd say things have gotten quite a lot worse for them."

"So we can find Amy then? They'll tell us where she may be?" John said, the Doctor's hope of finding Amy beginning to rub off on him.

"Yes. We'll find Amy. I don't care if we have to lift every rock at every time in every part of the universe…we have to find her." The Doctor's jaw clenched, his steadfast, wizened eyes stared at the angel, knowing well enough that he would keep his promise.

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_Hope the change of scenery did you well. This is scene was really thrilling to write. Expect more Winchesters+Amy soon, cuz honestly, I can't get enough of them. Review and Rate!_


	4. Pond Picks the Music

_Holla to my superwholockians. I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. The response to the last chapter was just back-flipping awesome. I'm gonna keep updating this often hopefully, so you guys hold up your end of the bargain: Rate, follow, and fav please!_

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Cruising over the speed limit, the Impala's headlights blazed through the early light of the dawn. The stretch of byway seeming endless, Dean yawned largely, sparing a glance at the welcome sign they passed. He pulled his arm over the back of the seat, setting a steady hand on the steer wheel.

"Welcome to Wisconsin," he cheered languidly, the little sleep he held onto he used to keep his eyes open on the road ahead. "Home of the cheese heads and some of the crappiest beer ever, 'ay Sammy?" Dean glanced over to the passenger's seat, Sam's cheek plastered to the window, a foggy cloud by his mouth. Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother. "Bitch," he mumbled.

"Not opinionated much, are we?" Dean's eyes widened for a moment; he had forgotten about the British girl in the backseat. He turned his head around for a moment, looking back at her.

"You're still up?" he asked.

She shrugged, resting her head on the front seat. "Think it's the jet lag," she muttered, her jaw pressed into the worn upholstery. "It's ten in the morning back home."

Dean nodded slowly, not really listening. "Gotcha." Amy took in a breath and sighed next to Dean, obviously bored with the long drive. "So," he started after an awkward pause, "where're you from?"

"Scotland. Little village called Leadworth," she said bored-like, tracing a finger over the cracks in the upholstery.

"Sounds like a real hot spot," Dean joked half-heartedly. Amy humphed a tired laugh. "Is that where all your…what were they, um..." Dean's stumbled trying to remember the name of the stone monsters Amy had described to them earlier.

"The weeping angels?"

"Yeah. That where they're from?" he asked.

Amy lifted her head, looking into the rearview mirror. "No the angels are more…off the map. I'm not even sure where they came from." Dean pursed his lips, thinking over what she said. The suspicion Dean had felt at the farmhouse hadn't receded even after Amy had told them more about herself and her version of angels. The way she chose her words so carefully, saying the angels were 'off the map' made Dean's curiosity bloom further.

"Sam said you saved his ass out there," Dean mentioned, trying to keep the conversation rolling. "You hunt before?"

Amy looked somewhat taken off guard by the question. "Maybe a little experienced, but no. Not like you two," she said. "I travel. With my friend."

Dean nodded, glancing through the mirror at Amy. "Like around the world sort of thing? Wherever the wind takes you?"

"Bit broader than that, but," Amy looked away from the mirror. "Basically yeah."

"Us, too. Or at least wherever the job is. Usually, though," Dean turned his head to check behind him, passing a ridiculously slow car ahead of them. "trouble finds us."

Amy scoffed. "Definitely know the feeling."

"I bet you don't go home much," Dean noted aloud. He took his arm off the seat, wringing both hands on the wheel. "You don't seem like one to pack your bags for Christmas dinner every year."

Amy stared back in the mirror at Dean with her doe eyes, an illegible wonder written there. The glint of a passing car lit her face in the rearview mirror, making Dean momentarily see the warm brown of her eyes. For a moment she sat silently, picking at her nail polish. "Yeah," she finally agreed. "I ran away from home. My friend, he…" There she was again, balancing her words on a scale, careful not to spill the beans; Dean waited for her, knowing that it was only a matter of time until she would reveal what she was hiding. "He wanted to take me with him to travel. Offered to go wherever I wanted to. He gave me the chance to see everything in the world and then some-"

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow, unsure what she was implying. "And _then_ some?"

Amy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Not like that. Gross." Dean gave a dry chuckle, loosening his hands on the wheel, looking ahead at the signs along the road. "So," Amy said, starting similarly as Dean had began, "I'm guessing you and Sam don't have much of a home either?"

"Nope. Just got Sammy, the Impala, and the job." Even to Dean he sounded a little too happy saying that, making something tighten in his chest.

"So, what, are you two like professional ghost hunters?" Amy folded her arms on the front seat, resting her head in her arms.

"Hunters, yes. But there's a lot worse stuff out there than ghosts, sister," Dean answered. "We hunt monsters, kind of stuff that's too nasty to fit in your closet or under the bed."

"Like…vampires?" Amy questioned. "Do those exist too?"

Dean nodded his head in agreement. "Werewolves, vamps, shapeshifters. All the good stuff."

"Sorry, but those things don't sound very good."

"Well," Dean shrugged, "Somebody's gotta kill 'em." He could feel Amy watching him through the mirror, his weary stare out against the asphalt refusing to look back. On the byway they began to pass one of many farms, the cows all cooped in a long, low ceilinged building. Dean could see men already out there working, the sun beginning to brim the horizon.

Dean turned his eyes back to the road when Amy interrupted his view of the rising sun. "Did you run away, too?" she asked him quietly.

His expression hardened, the lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling. "No. Our dad raised us into this. You could say it's a family business sort of thing." He sighed, his mouth tugging at a heavy frown. "Sometimes I wish I could run from it. Like you and your friend."

Dean couldn't see her face in the mirror any longer, unable to see the pity or loathing or whatever feeling was crammed in those big eyes of hers. He thought it was better off. He hated seeing the sympathy and the 'I know how you feel' in people's expressions.

"It's not as fun as it sounds," she mumbled close enough to his ear to make a chill run down his back. "I mean…it's fantastic at first. The freedom of it, not having anything or anyone holding you back. It's like someone shot you up in a spaceship and let you see the stars." Amy hesitated.

Dean couldn't help it. He turned the mirror away from the road behind him and down onto Amy. The weight on his chest seemed to vanish as he stared worriedly at her. Yes, he could see the pity in her eyes, the loathing, but it wasn't directed at him. The way she cast her eyes away from him and instead onto her chipped nail polish, Dean could read her easily. It was self-pity.

Hastily, he readjusted the mirror before she could notice, listening to her closely.

"Then you start to realize…that the thing you're running from wasn't so bad. And then the stars don't look as pretty as they were before. They sort of dim somehow." Dean glanced over his shoulder, looking across at Amy. "Kind of sappy."

"Yeah, you're starting to sound like Sam." Dean tapped his brother's shoulder lightly. Sam didn't even try to shrug his finger off, deeply asleep. Dean chuckled. "Wait until he starts snoring."

Lifting her head out of her arms, she began to smile. "Hey." Amy leaned over the front seat, slugging Dean playfully in the arm. "I'd say you're doing pretty alright for a guy who hunts monsters for a living." Her smile shown down on him, the rising sun in the east illuminating her from behind. "If I had to chase down ghosts like that I'd have to buy some brown pants for myself." Dean couldn't help but crack a smile, even while knowing she was trying to cheer him more than she was able to cheer herself. She cocked her head to the side with a playful sternness. "Hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear ya," he nodded, watching the road. Amy ducked back into the backseat. "Hey," Dean called back to her, noticing how she was rubbing her arms up and down. "You cold?"

"A little. But it's alright-"

"Here," he took his hands off the wheel and began taking his leather jacket off, steering with his knees. "Take this. I'm burning up." His arms out of the sleeves, and the Impala nearly veering off the road, Dean tossed his jacket back to her.

"Thanks," she said with a small smile, pulling her arms through the jacket.

Dean pushed up the sleeves on his flannel, instantly feeling cooler without the jacket. "We'll be in Rochester in a couple of hours. You should hit the sack for a little while."

Amy rested her elbows on the front seat again, looking out at the golden sunlit road. "Someone outta stay up with you." Out of his peripherals, Dean watched her look him over briefly. "Don't want you falling asleep."

The corner of Dean's mouth curled upwards. Looking down at the cubby in the dashboard, he picked out some of his mixed cassettes. "Here," he said, offering a handful of them to Amy, "Pick something you wanna listen to." Amy cupped her hands, taking the tapes. Looking back in the rearview mirror, Dean watched her with a gentle eye. Amy looked back up; he didn't need the light of a passing car to see her brown eyes that time. Quickly, he brought his eyes back on the road, watching the mile markers pass.

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_Do I ship Dean and Amy? Maybe. I'd say they're definitely tight now so anything's possible. Little more action and maybe even a fatality in the next chapter. Also, if you guys have suggestions for the fic I am all ears. Rate, follow, fav!_


	5. The Motel Special

_ Guys. All these reviews and stuff are killing me. I _never_ expected a response like this. So, guys, really, thank you. So now I have to warn you…this is a lengthy chapter. More Winchsters+Amy though! Enjoy!_

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The first time Dean slugged him in the arm he tried to ignore it, hoping that if he kept fake-sleeping he would be left alone. Rarely did Sam get this much sleep in the car; just for those extra minutes, he would selfishly try to doze off as long as he could manage. It didn't take more than a few seconds for Dean to round off a second punch, though, hitting him squarely below the shoulder. Harder than the first one, and in the same place, Sam cringed. He was already beginning to feel the welt that would be on his arm for the rest of the day.

"Dude, you're stupid," Sam groaned, wishing he had something to throw at his brother.

"I knew you were up," Dean said smugly. "Hey, this is the exit, right?"

Sam turned his cheek away from the window drowsily. "What?"

"The sign, dumbass; is that our exit?" Sam squinted his eyes open, using the heel of his hand to rub the sleep out. He squirmed out of his crooked sleeping position and sat up in the seat, looking out into the bright morning.

"What number is it?"

"247. Come on, man. If you don't tell me in two seconds this semi's gonna run me off," Dean belly-ached.

"Yeah, that's the one." Sam yawned, lifting his arms above his head and tracing his fingers backwards on the Impala's roof, attempting to stretch. "Dean, your car sucks," he grumbled, his out-stretched fingers nearly reaching the back window. "I can't stretch in here." As Sam perceived it, insulting the car was payback enough in exchange for his rude awakening.

Dean didn't wait a beat to snap at him, making Sam's yawn turn into a smile. "Don't even give me that crap. You're a freakin' giant; you can't even fit into the motel beds most times. Your legs are always hangin' over the edge." Sam gave a tired chuckle at that, pulling his arms back to his side. "So just cuz you're the jolly green giant," Dean continued bitterly, "_doesn't_ give you any reason to say my car sucks. I'm always hauling your ass around in it, so quit complaining. Got it?"

Sam's smile faltered when Dean stared him down seriously. "Uh, yeah. Got it." Now properly awake, Sam could make out the deep creases under Dean's eyes as he turned his hard stare back to the road. Glancing down at the digital clock on the dashboard, Sam did the math on how many hours Dean had been driving. Sam's eyebrows rose slightly. No wonder Dean was so crabby. "You must've been hauling most the night if we're already in Rochester."

"Seven hours," Dean added, his expression hazy by the lack of sleep.

"You should've woke me up."

Dean gave a shrug of his shoulders as if his sleeplessness didn't bother him. "Amy stayed up with me most the way."

Sam had forgotten she was even there. Her near fairytale appearance last night had completely slipped from his memory once he had fallen asleep. He could only guess that he had become too accustomed to weird happenings enough to treat them as daily occurrences.

Leaning an arm over the seat, he peered into the backseat. Amy lay curled under Dean's jacket, an emptied duffel bag tucked under her head as a pillow. Her ginger hair was pooled around her face, the long hairs trickling over so he could hardly see her closed eyes. Seeing her sleeping restfully, Sam couldn't quite believe Dean's claim.

"Really?" Sam said doubtfully, bringing his gaze back to the road. "She looks…pretty much out."

"No, _you_ were out. You were snoring like a baby while Amy and I were gettin' into some Lynyrd Skynyrd. Y'know she didn't know a thing about them? She picked out a few tapes, and I had to teach her all about Ronnie VanZant-"

"Whoa, hold up a second. You let _her_ pick the music?" Sam protested. "You don't even let me touch your cassettes!"

"That's right, and you're not gonna," Dean affirmed without hesitation.

"How does she get to pick the music? What about your 'one rule?'" he continued to pout. "Driver picks the music and all that crap you hang over me?"

"Sammy, she's a guest," Dean replied coolly, giving Sam a disappointed look. "Honestly. Be a gentleman."

Sam scoffed in disbelief, rolling his eyes. He glanced back at her again. Judging by the soft rise and fall of her chest, Sam figured she wouldn't be awake for awhile. His mouth tweaked into a curious frown as he looked over to Dean. "So who do you think she is?" Sam asked quietly.

Sam watched Dean purse his lips, staring down the road warily as he thought. "From talking with her, it sounds like she's a hippie or something. She's got some definite free spirit thing going on there." Sam tried to hide the laugh in his throat, but it made its way out as a snort. "Really, though, talking to her last night she's hard to figure. Never gave me a straight answer on whatever I asked. She did say that she ran away from home. Something about travelling with a friend."

Sam nodded, trying to piece together an answer on who the girl in the backseat was. It seemed pretty unnatural to him that she could drop out of the sky and be completely oblivious to how she had gotten there then join their hunt without any hesitation. She had been good on the hunt, too, evidently experienced but still ignorant of basic hunting knowledge. Sam's brow creased. "What if she's an angel?"

"Aw," Dean gushed cynically, "Sammy's got a crush."

"You let her break your number one rule and you're saying _I_ have a crush?" Sam retaliated. Dean glanced back at him briefly, paused, then looked back to the road, at a loss for a wise crack. Sam smirked; "But what if she _is_ an angel, though? What if Amy…forgot she was an angel? Like how Anna forgot after she fell. I mean, she doesn't really remember how she ended up in the field. And she was talking about maybe getting zapped there by an angel."

"Yeah, but those were some stone angels she was going on about."

"Well," Sam sighed, seeing their exit off in the distance, "Don't know how else to figure her."

"Well the only guy I know who could tell if she's an angel is a little MIA." Sam didn't need him to explain further who Dean was talking about. It had been months since they had seen Cas. After Lucifer had been released from the cage, demons had been on their back constantly. Without Cas showing up anytime after Lucifer's appearance, Sam had just nearly given up on putting any faith in the angel.

Coming off the 247 exit, the Impala turned left, the direction opposite of town. "All I care about now is getting a bed, and hittin' the pillow," Dean shook his head. "Not even gonna take my shoes off. I am burnt. Out." Hardly a mile outside of the town, pressed between two decrepit apartment buildings, the Special 8 sign glowed fluorescently. Below, the blinking vacancy sign signaled the Winchesters in from their road warrior mentalité.

"Think we should wake her up?" Sam asked, wondering to himself how all three of them were going to fit in two motel beds. Behind him he heard a groaning noise, making him turn around in confusion.

"I'm up," came a grumble from the back seat. Rising from her duffel bag pillow, Amy sat up sleepily, her hair in a shoulder-length tangle.

"Mornin' VanZant," Dean said, pulling into the motel parking lot. "Ready for a real bed to sleep in?"

Sam didn't register the quick-wit remark Amy made back at Dean, focused on a figure out the window. His brow furrowed as he watched a dark silhouette on the apartment complex to their right. How the person on the roof stood rigidly still, watching their car pull in made Sam's stomach lurch. A puff of cigarette smoke left the stranger's lips before his shape dipped into a shadow. Sam swallowed hard, trusting his gut feeling.

"Dean, wait," Sam said cautiously before the Impala pulled in between the yellow lines. "The guy on the roof-"

"Sammy, I'm gettin' a room; I don't care if there's a guy on the roof having a smoke." Dean grabbed the gear shift to put the Impala in park, pulling it towards him.

Sam opened his mouth to argue, wanting to stop Dean from putting the car in park, but his breath held. Between the space of time it took the vacancy sign to blink, the crack of a rifle tore through the parking lot. The back window shattered, jerking all three of them forward violently. Behind him Amy let out a scream. Sam raised his arms over his face, glass shards ricocheting against the inside of the Impala.

"_Son of a-_" Sam heard Dean swear, pulling the shifter into reverse. The rifle rang out again, the heavy thunks of bullets piercing the Chevy's black body making them duck low in their seats. The tires squealed as Dean hit the gas, a hand hovering over his head. Sam reached a hand into the back seat to find Amy, pressing her head down as the bullets whizzed through the air. Left of Sam's shoulder, a bullet clipped the front seat, too close to comfort him.

He shouted at Dean to hurry up, watching him as he yanked the Impala into drive. The Impala jerked forward as the back tires peeled smoke behind them. The engine roared over the gunfire as Dean pulled back onto the main road, skidding away from the Special 8.

"Sammy?" Dean yelled over the wind from the broken window, his knuckles white on the wheel.

"I'm fine," he called back. Sam maneuvered carefully to look into the back seat, his gaze searching. "Amy, you okay?" Sam lifted his hand off her, worriedly hoping she was alright.

"I think I'm bleeding," she said in a muffled voice, sitting up again. Pieces of glass fell off of Amy's shoulders as she held a hand over her face. "It cut my cheek." Sam couldn't see anything oozing from under her hand; it wasn't deep then. She'd be okay.

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean shouted, pounding a hand on the steering wheel. "I'm gonna kill that guy." Blood trickled down Dean's hand, a heavy gash on the back of his hand.

Sam brushed the glass off his lap, turning all the way around in the seat to Amy. He dug in his pocket and reached for his handkerchief. "Who could it've been?" The revving of the Impala and the wind made Sam have to yell. He folded the handkerchief and held it out to Amy. "Hey, here. Put this on your cheek." She took it, wiping her wet hand on the handkerchief then putting it on her face.

"How the hell should I know? How'd they know we were even there?" Sam couldn't figure a clear answer for Dean. The list of enemies who wanted to kill them couldn't provide an answer to his pounding heart. Dean shifted the Impala up, making the outskirts of the town speed by in a blur.

"Don't know." Sam returned his attention on Amy, "You sure you're okay?"

"Maybe not okay," she admitted, pressing the handkerchief to her cheek. Sam could hear the tremor in her voice, her eyes wide as she looked at him. "More terrified really," she said with a nod and a shaky smile. He wanted to reassure her with a smile in turn, but could only manage a curt nod.

"Sam, is he following us?" Dean called to him.

Glancing away from Amy, Sam looked out the back. "No, I don't see anybody. I'd go a couple miles out of town before we stop, though." Dean didn't reply, his face flushed angrily.

Ten miles beyond the 'Thanks For Visiting Rochester!' sign, the Impala pulled onto the curb, gravel crunching under the tires. Putting it in park, Dean turned the key out. Without the car's engine pounding in his head, Sam could hear the ringing in his ears from the gun shots, the silence feeling strained. Sam glanced over at his brother, watching him take a deep breath before he began surveying the damage to his baby.

"So we're in the clear now, right?" Amy broke the stillness, her voice slowly regaining the vitality Sam recognized.

"Should be," Sam confirmed. "I can't imagine a shooter following us this far out."

"Dammit, look at all this glass," Dean cursed, stepping out of the car carefully, shaking the slivers off his clothes. Sam stepped out after him, slamming the door. "Amy, how're you doing?"

"Decent for getting shot at. Little shaky, but...decent." Sam opened the car door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the scattered glass.

"Careful." She nodded at him, her grip on his hand tight. The glass falling off the back seat and into the gravel, her feet hit the gravel. She stood, Sam hearing a huff of relief pass her lips.

"Thanks." Amy bent down, brushing the glass off her. "How are you doing then?"

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Oh, I'm-"

"My hand got it pretty good," Dean told her, walking towards the back end of the Impala. "Dammit. Sam, you gotta extra bandana?"

Sam felt a lump in his throat; his gaze darted awkwardly away from her, taking a moment to focus on Dean. "Yeah it's in the trunk. There's a first aid kit in the trunk, too," he said to her. "I can get something for your cheek." She lifted her head from brushing glass off her legs, looking up to him. She still had Dean's coat over her shoulders, the thick material protecting her from most of the glass. Sam watched her jump when Dean started chewing off curses at their unknown shooter.

"Oh, come on! I'll _kill_ that bastard!" Dean cussed, clenching his bleeding hand, making it drip hotly. Sam turned to look at him, walking over to the back of the car. Dean threw the car keys into the dirt. "Look at that," he pointed to the Impala's trunk. "Nine holes. The guy turned my baby into a goddamn golf course!" Sam counted the bullet holes that had sunk through the trunk, the gashes in the car somehow painful for him to witness. The bullets were scattered across the trunk; one bullet had broken a tail light while another hole lay inches underneath the back window near where Amy's head had been.

Dean gritted his teeth as he ran his uncut hand through his hair, frothing with anger. He walked away from the car, unable to say more.

Amy shuffled near Sam. "Did he call the car his baby?" she murmured.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at her then looked back at Dean. "Uh, yeah. He does that a lot." Sam stepped towards the trunk, picking up the keys in the dirt and opening the trunk.

"Will he be…okay?" Amy asked.

"Yeah, he should be. Not the first time he's had to fix it up." The trunk popped easily, but groaned once he lifted the lid. Sam pulled up the trunk's bottom, opening the compartment below without much thought.

"Whoa," Amy uttered, awe-struck. "I don't think you mentioned the arsenal in the trunk." Her eyes shown down on the dozens of weapons stowed in the bottom of the trunk, hardly able to make out what most of them were.

Sam grinned at her stunned expression. "Well," he jammed one of the rifles to keep it open, reaching a hand into the back for the fist aid bag, "It gets the job done."

"Yeah for a small army," Amy added, walking over to have a better look inside. "Wait," she told him, brushing a hand on his shoulder, "don't move. You've got a whole window's worth of glass on your back." Sam stood fixed as she used her sleeve to brush off the glass, moving from his shoulders and downward. He tensed as her sleeve made a sweep down his lower back, managing a brush just below. "There," she announced, oblivious to where her hand had wandered, "You're set."

He stood up straight again, turning around to see Amy smiling up at him. Sam managed a stiff smile, unsure whether to look at her or at his feet, embarrassed. He cleared his throat, resorting to digging into the first aid bag.

She scuffed the ground with her shoe briefly, watching him search the pockets of the bag for the medical tape. Amy sighed, running a light finger over the line of weapons in the trunk. "Please tell me that getting shot at isn't an everyday thing for you two. Cuz, hypothetically if it is," she said, raising her hands, "I heard that Greyhound buses here aren't too bad."

Sam's tight expression loosened, and he shook his head. "Most days they wait til midday to start shooting at us. Here." Sam stuck a tuft of cotton onto the medical tape carefully then ripped off the end of tape. Amy took the handkerchief off her cheek; the blood around the cut had blotted messily. "Oh. Just a sec." He took the handkerchief from her hand and reached into the bag for a water bottle, dipping the handkerchief. Sam glanced over to where Dean was, seeing him press his phone to his ear.

"Bobby," Sam caught Dean saying into the phone. Dean jerked the phone away from his ear, the rattle of Bobby's yelling heard all the way by the Impala. "Son of a bitch, Bobby, hold up. We're in Minnesota. Yeah, I know I should've called sooner…Shut it for a sec would ya? We were shot at…" Dean turned so his back was to the car, Sam unable to hear Bobby on the other line.

"Is it all smeared?" Amy asked, making Sam bring his attention back to her.

"It isn't bad," he assured, picking up the handkerchief. "I can wipe it off if you want."

She gave a soft yes to him, looking away from him as he dabbed the blood from her face. Sam tried to not let his mind wander, concentrating on the freckles on her cheek. The cut had slice through her freckles as if someone had tried to connect the dots. With his other hand he took the tape and set down the bandana, and gently pressing the tape over the cut. He lingered for a moment there before standing up.

"You good?"

Amy curled her fingers inside the sleeves of Dean's jacket, a comfortable smile lighting her face. Her smile crinkled the tape on her cheek. "Yeah. Thanks." Not even knowing her for more than a day, Sam couldn't get how she was able to fall into this unpredictable lifestyle of theirs already, only questioning the immediately dangerous and not the immediately strange.

Sam glanced over at Dean, the click of the closing phone catching his attention. "Bobby says we gotta go over to his place. If some freak is riding our ass, he says we better book it toward somewhere safe." Dean strode to the their side of the Impala, grabbing Sam's bandana and wrapping his hand in it. "You're driving."

Nodding, Sam turned back to Amy. "I'm guessing Dean'll sleep in the back. You want shotgun?" Behind Amy, Dean shot him a strange look as if he hadn't expected him to offer her the spot. Sam returned the look, unsure what he meant by it.

"Maybe after we get all the glass out, but…sure." Amy shrugged, looking at Dean behind her.

"Sounds fine to me," Dean agreed. Sam stared warily at his brother when he pointed a finger at him. "But Amy picks the music." His tongue in his cheek, Sam sent him a scowl. Dean grinned back mischievously, approaching him to go to the other side of the car. He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Suck up," Sam murmured.

"Bitch," Dean snarked back, rounding the other side of the Impala. Sam quirked a bumbling smile at Amy, grimacing at Dean as he closed the trunk behind him.

Amy heaved a haughty breath from her chest, rolling her eyes playfully. "On the road again."

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_Our villain begins to emerge! Now I know before Dean/Amy seemed pretty set in stone, but now I'd say any Winchester is ripe for the picking. Got an idea which one?Sorry this one was so long, but, I mean, it's bearable when Amy manages an accidental ass-tap right? ;)  
_

_Heading back to London next chapter! I always appreciate a good ole helping of reviews, favs, and follows! _


	6. Hard Feelings

_So I took my sweet time with this chapter. Writer's block is a cantankerous assbutt. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!_

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Glass crunched under the Doctor's feet, his pace quick and march-like as he hovered around the trio of angels. "They're not much for talking, are they?" he mused, scrutinizing the sonic screwdriver's latest reading.

"They can…talk?" John replied, leaning back on his heels. His legs had begun to stiffen from standing on watch for so long.

"Not with their mouths, but they're known for stealing people's voices. After they touch a person, of course." The Doctor paused, momentarily wringing his hands. He didn't have to say anything for John to understand his worry that Amy's voice had been taken. The guilt in John's stomach stumbled a little lower. Wasn't it horrible enough that he couldn't even take the blame for his mistake? For the umpteenth time, John hoped that Amy was alright.

"I'd rather them silent," Sherlock quipped, reading into the situation as well. "Did you find anything?"

The Doctor rose from his fearful thoughts, glancing between the angels and the detective pair. Something hopeful and dimly eccentric began to quiver in the Doctor's expression, something John figured would be an absurd and brilliantly off the shelf idea. "Oh, no," he assured, scoffing his feet on the carpet, bringing a whimsical eye to the mold spots on the ceiling. "Nothing to share."

John easily figured otherwise. After his adventures with the Doctor, he had seen that look countless times. He even had gotten around to coining a name for it: the 'Impossible Plan' face. John gave a small but nervous sigh. Sherlock huffed a chuckle.

Mock casually, the Doctor strode up from behind the angels and towards them, folding his arms behind his back as if the plan to find Amy was an obvious one. He settled a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Take a blink, Sherly." John steadied himself while Sherlock looked away. The Doctor lowered his voice to a murmur, almost as if he didn't want the angels to hear. He looked between them. "We'll find her. I know how."

Next to John, Sherlock batted his dry eyes at the Doctor. "What will we have to do?"

"Anything and everything." With a final pat on both their shoulders, the Doctor skidded into the TARDIS once more.

John ran his tongue over the fuzz on his teeth, guessing at how long they had been watching these God-forsaken statues. He began guessing at Sherlock's reasoning to cover for him. John didn't know how to ask him about it. He was hardly able to imagine why he took the blame in the first place. There were no favors to be counted between them, no lost bets or secret chivalric code to make Sherlock feel obligated. The slim space between him and Sherlock thickened as the seconds passed without the Doctor.

Finally, just as the quiet became too heavy to breathe in, Sherlock raised his eyes back to the angels. He sighed, bored. Unable to contain himself within another bout of sticky quiet, John snapped.

"Oh, don't huff and pout like some old mutt. What the hell were you thinking?" His voice hissed like he didn't want to be overheard.

"Oh, please," Sherlock grunted.

"You didn't do anything to Amy. It was…_my_ mistake, Sherlock. You shouldn't have-"

"It's the guilt, John." Sherlock held a firmness in his voice that John understood was not one to question. "It wasn't your mistake alone. So I wouldn't allow you to treat it as one singular burden." John's brow furrowed. Was he being empathic? "It isn't something worth shouldering. I'd say that's enough of a reason."

John wished to look over at him. The tone of Sherlock's voice, the undaunted softness was one he hadn't heard in what felt like years. It was only after his return from the grave did Sherlock speak to him like that. The late conversations of why John had been kept in the dark, the apologies and explanations. He had unloaded the guilt of his friend's suicide under that tone. Sherlock knew the guilt John had suffered after the Fall had been tremendous; the straw that nearly broke this old soldier's back. Maybe he felt John had been burdened enough. He could only guess.

"John! Turn around!" Hesitating a moment, he turned towards the TARDIS doors once Sherlock gave him a nod to assure him the angels would be kept in place. Before he could see what was coming towards him, John reached out to catch the many objects that were being thrown at him.

"Hold it a moment, would you?" John stretched to grab the Doctor's screwdriver, barely managing it between his fingers. He opened his hands to see what he held: a tube of super glue, a box of band-aids, the stone finger, and the sonic screwdriver.

"The fuel engine is back on, coffee maker tossed," the Doctor announced, stepping out of the TARDIS doors and closing them behind him. "John, turn back. We need your eyes." With his small handful, John faced the angels again, a little more than perplexed by the Doctor. "Little known fact, did you know that Genghis Khan was missing his pointer finger, too? Made for an awkward handshake." Out of John's hands the Doctor reached for the glue and the finger. "Unfortunately for him his finger was probably lost in battle, but I'm sure…" The Doctor applied an overzealous amount of superglue on the angel's nub then stuck the finger back, twisting it into its former position. "There, good as new."

John watched him in the corner of his vision, unable to follow the Time Lord's secret plot. "Doctor…"

"Shh!" The Doctor raised a finger to John. He turned to Sherlock with his finger. "You too.

"Now," he brought his attention back to the angel, a fatherly sternness in his voice, "You sent my friend away. She's very special to me, and I want to make sure that she's alright." The Doctor took the box of band-aids from John, popping one out and peeling the wrapper off. "I'm sure there are some...hard feelings between us, but…" John quit listening for a moment, trying to understand why the Doctor was explaining himself to a stone angel. His ears peaked again, unable to ignore the Doctor saying, "I'd like to offer a trade."

He felt Sherlock shift uncomfortably. What could the three of them have to offer to a couple hunks of stone?

The Doctor wrapped the band-aid around the angel's outstretched finger. "You tell me where you sent my friend," he continued softly, "And I will give you the heart of the TARDIS."

John felt Sherlock and himself tense at the same moment. "Doctor!" Sherlock barked.

He exhaled hotly. "I told you-"

"Doctor, you're being careless; giving away the TARDIS's heart would make it impossible to find Amy," Sherlock tore at him.

"How am _I_ the careless one, trying to save Amy from what you've done?" The Doctor's words sliced into John. Sherlock didn't try arguing again, his mouth thinned furiously. "_Any_thing and everything," he repeated firmly.

The silence between them urged John to argue. He only flexed his hands though.

Reaching back, the Doctor set the box of band-aids in John's hands. His grip tightened around the box as the Doctor reached into his tweed jacket. John couldn't figure how he could have concealed it, the golden light of it illuminating the entire hallway. Out from his jacket, the Doctor held between his thumb and forefinger what seemed to be a crumb. A piece of the TARDIS's heart.

"Start the bidding, I suppose." The Doctor held the golden piece to eye level, marveling at it for a moment. "It's only a scrap," he began speaking to the angels again, "But I believe it just shows how serious I am."

With the rich warmth radiating from it along with the blinding glow against his face, John had to be careful to not squint. His heart seemed inaudible in his ears; travelling with the Doctor he was so accustomed having his heart in his throat, leaping from all those thrilling adventures. This wasn't thrilling any longer, though. This was clumsy and brash.

Gently, he set the speck into the angel's hand. From the angel's open palm, John wondered if it had planned this all along, waiting for this moment of sacrifice. He half-expected the angel to break its stony position so to curl its claws around the fleck of gold.

The Doctor took a step back from the angel, standing in line with them. "Don't look at it," he warned. John turned his eyes to another spot of grey. They waited, the pinched-lip silence making their palms sweat and eyes notice everything.

Next to him, the Doctor opened his mouth. John expected him to talk to the bloody angel again, but he let out a yelp instead. He patted his chest hurriedly. "Did I leave something on?" he asked aloud. He dug into his pockets, searching. "Ha!" The Doctor lifted a black notebook from his pocket. "Here we go!" He flipped through the notebook at a furious pace, stopping briskly on a page. The Doctor laughed lightly, a wide grin breaking over his face.

"What is it? Did it work?" John mumbled.

"Coordinates!" he waved back, wringing an arm around John's neck. "Amazing what superglue and a band-aid can fix. Time to go, boys." The Doctor let go of him, opening the doors to the TARDIS. He hesitated before stepping in. "Sorry for any hard feelings," the Doctor added, talking to the angels, "but we may have to postpone that offer." He stepped through the doors, optimistic.

"But, the angels…" John struggled to understand.

From his peripherals he saw Sherlock's expression lift. "Oh," he realized, "_Oh_, of course."

"What Sherlock, what is it?" John looked over the angels again, trying to find the clue he had obviously missed.

Sherlock turned his gaze away from the angels suddenly. He took hold of John's arm, pulling towards the TARDIS. "Never doubt the Doctor, John."

"But, waitwait…_Sherlock!_" Panicking, John's eyes darted from angel to angel; with only his eyes on the three angels he was sure they would start moving any moment. The tug on John's arm stopped, Sherlock staring uncertainly at him. "You are _completely _mad; you know we have to watch them!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, resuming his pull on John's sleeve. "Oh, nevermind them. We have to find Amy now."

"But, wh-" John couldn't understand why he happened to draw the short straw on understanding these things. "But the heart of the TARDIS…"

"Yes, exactly! The heart!" Sherlock said eagerly, stepping into the TARDIS. John stumbled backwards through the threshold, nearly loosing his footing. He refused to blink, though, knowing from past experience how important watching the angels was.

John persisted, "Sherlock, we have to watch them! They'll kill us if we don't."

"I'd say they're much more preoccupied with themselves than us," the Doctor shouted down from the consul.

John's head whirred. Was this some test? After losing Amy he couldn't even consider the idea of blinking without making his stomach clench.

Sherlock held his shoulder, trying to steer John from the angels. He refused to budge. "John, honestly," Sherlock chided, "Trust me." John chewed his cheek and shook his head, the last image he had of Amy playing over in his mind. Whatever prank they were pulling John wasn't having any of it. He knew how serious this was; he couldn't allow another mistake happen because of him. An annoyed sigh left Sherlock, his hand coming off John shoulder.

"Sherlock, stop!" John's fingers reached to catch the TARDIS door, missing it barely. The doors clicked closed, leaving him to blink at their white-washed backs.

John stood at the doors, stunned. His chest thudded; there was his pounding heart, counting its last few beats before the angels clawed through the doors.

Above him, Sherlock laughed.

His brow creased as the seconds passed. "Where are they?" John asked finally. He looked to his friend. "Sherlock, what is this?"

Sherlock raised an amused smile. "He was never going to give them the heart of the TARDIS. Those angels, they were starving for energy, and leaving three hungry angels with a meal like that…" Sherlock's grin widened.

The grind of stone tumbled outside the TARDIS, sounding as if a wrecking ball had crashed through the slim hall. John jumped at the sound, envisioning the dry wall falling apart under the wrath of stone claws and hissing faces. Somehow, the noise of the weeping angels fighting amongst themselves made John's nerves loosen.

"They'll kill each other for that speck," Sherlock continued, staring at the TARDIS doors as well. "I'd say after an hour all we would find is dust there."

"Oh," he exhaled, his racing heart easing. He shook his head, a wide, relieved smile washing over his face. John glanced up at the Doctor. "You bluffed?"

He didn't return John's stare, instead rounding the opposite side of the consul with a laugh. "Definitely a first with that lot." The crank of a lever crackled in their ears, the familiar whir of the TARDIS soothing the army doctor. "Onwards and upwards, boys!"

The phone box jerked. John clung to the railing as he and Sherlock managed up onto the console. "Do you know where she is?" Inwardly he braced himself, preparing himself to take on aliens and monsters to get Amy back.

The Doctor swung the viewing screen for them to see. An image of what seemed to be a junk yard lit up the screen. "South Dakota!"

* * *

_Superwholock party at Bobby's! __On the road with the Winchesters+Amy next chapter, along with another angel problem. _

_Thanks so much for reading. Review, follow, fav :) _


	7. The Funnier Angel

_So I went back through all the chapters and did a little tweaking, and added titles to the chapters. A little improvement never hurt! Back with Amy and Team Free Will!_

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The hour turned on the dashboard punctually, confirming Dean's assumption that they'd been on the road way too long. The five hours of sleep he had managed was cramped, not to mention the time it took to get all the glass off the seats, had Dean fidgeting to stretch his legs. An eleven hour drive was definitely beyond his pay grade.

"Dude, come _on_," he complained, holding his palm out to his brother, "Just give it to me."

"Shouldn't you be watching the road or something?" Dean glanced over, seeing Sam nose deep in the fast food bag. He pulled himself out of the bag, that tart, pissed-off expression on his face that Dean occasionally couldn't help but laugh at. "Really? The guy forgot my fork, dick."

Dean waved his hand, indifferent. "Too bad, now come on I'm starving."

Sam shook his head and grabbed the rectangle box of apple pie, shoving it into Dean's hand. Not waiting any longer than he had to, Dean set his wrists on the wheel and began peeling open the box.

"Do you _know_ how bad those are for you?"

"You know how much I don't need a fork for this?" Dean mimicked back, taking a hefty bite of the travel-sized pie. "Mmhm." Seeing Sam's revolted face, Dean wagged the pie in his face, making him swat at it. He grinned, a lump of pie in his cheek.

Sam looked away from him and down at the salad in his lap. He sighed, defeated. "Do you think we should wake her up?"

Dean shrugged, glancing through the rearview mirror. He tilted it to the right slightly. In the back corner he could see her snoozing away under his jacket. His eyes traced the slope of her face, her hands, all the way down to her mini skirt. Dean's heartbeat felt heavy in his chest. Probably his arteries clogging from the pie.

"She's fine," he replied, turning the mirror back. Dean let his gaze rest on the mirror a moment longer, his eyes moving upward. An angry knot coiled in his stomach seeing the hunk of plastic rattle over the rear window. They had found it on the side of the road, using it to fill the broken window. Swallowing, he took another bite out of the pie, his heart pulsing for another reason.

Dean felt something move under him suddenly. He turned over to Sam, watching him dig his hands in the crevices of the seat. "Lose something?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "I'm looking for something to eat my salad with!"

"All you're gonna find there are empty shells and used condoms, man." Dean nearly snorted up his pie when Sam's hands shot up from the seat cushion. Sam's face quickly switched from revulsion to pure annoyance.

"Real nice, Dean," he said with a glare.

"Your face, though," Dean continued to laugh, managing to swallow his last bite. "Definitely a Kodak moment." He crumpled the pie box in his hands, tossing it into the bag. Once the last of Sam's wide-eyes burned out of his memory, he second-glanced the bag again.

"Hey, um," he lowered his voice, "Do you think Amy would mind if I took her pie?"

Sam scoffed. "Yes, so don't even think about it. She isn't stupid; she'll _know_ you ate it." Rummaging through the glove compartment, Sam's face lifted. His mood all but renewed, Sam pulled out a plastic fork. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sammy's lucky day," he couldn't help but say with an extra dose of sarcasm. "You had me looking forward to you eating that crap with your fingers."

Refusing to listen, Sam popped the lid off the salad container and stabbed into the greens. Easing his grip on the steering wheel, Dean tried to settle in the groove in the driver's seat.

A shout came from the backseat, making them both jump. On instinct, Dean tapped the brakes and looked to Sam. His brother was clutching his salad bowl, turning to look in the backseat.

"Amy?" Sam asked.

Dean turned the mirror, his eyes going wide at who he saw. "_Cas?_"

"Who's on top of me?" Amy cried, her body trying to wiggle out from underneath the angel.

Donning his oversized trench coat and backwards tie, Castiel sat squarely in the middle of the backseat directly overtop Amy's stomach. He looked down at the girl he was sitting ontop of. "I'm very sorry," he stared bashfully Amy. "I wasn't aware- had I known-"

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean cracked at him, attempting to watch the backseat more than the road ahead of him.

"Who _are_ you?" Amy squirmed, pushing Cas to the other side of the backseat. He thumped down onto the seat, his face beaten with embarrassment as Amy curled into the opposite corner.

The angel stared between them, his cheeks burning. At last, he rested his gaze on Dean. "You were shot at. I was…concerned about your wellbeing." Cas shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with everyone watching him.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly the first time we've been shot at in the last three months." Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched. More than anything he hated Cas's surprise visits. He knew the angel would be there whenever Dean would call, but would it kill him to _casually_ stop by once in awhile? Dean looked into the mirror again, seeing Amy's sleep-rimmed eyes vigilantly staring down her rude awaker.

"Amy, this is Cas. Cas, Amy." With wary eyes they looked at each other, giving a slight nod.

Cas cleared his throat, unable to rid of his gravely pitch. "Again, I'm…sorry for sitting ontop of you."

Amy bit her lip, leaning towards Cas. "How'd you get here?" Her eyes darted over him curiously. She looked like she couldn't contain herself. "Are you an alien?"

Dean's brow furrowed, bewildered at her question. He glanced at Sam, recognizing his expression mirror his own. "An alien?"

Her eyes snapped towards Dean. From her reflection in the mirror, she looked exposed, as if she had said something she shouldn't have. Her careful balancing act faltered; the cat was starting to come out of the bag. Dean itched to ask her more, but her gaze tore from his momentarily. As quickly as her stunned expression had crossed, Amy's Scottish stubbornness returned.

"Well, look at you! Hunting ghosts and vampires; aliens don't seem too far off from the menu." Amy looked away from the mirror, staring intently at Cas. "How'd you end up in my lap?"

From how close Amy was to Cas, Dean believed the angel had finally met his match for people lacking the need for personal space. Dean smirked.

"I'm," Cas stumbled, taken aback by her eager gaze. Next to him, Dean could see Sammy slip a grin at Cas. "I flew here." He paused for her, but her curiosity made her silent. Cas continued, "I'm an angel of the Lord. Using my grace I'm able to appear wherever I wish."

After the ghost in Michigan, the shooter at the motel, and the handful of hunting stories Dean had told her, Dean hadn't once seen that crazy Amy girl hardly bat an eye in disbelief. Never overwhelmed by the dangerous situations . Never scared by the new and unknown. She seemed so level-headed around their monster-filled lives. It was as if she had seen it all before.

When she shook her head at Castiel, though, he knew her long streak had finally ended.

"No…" she mumbled. "No. Way."

"Got any other ideas?" Sam spoke up with half a mouthful of lettuce. Dean didn't even have to look over at Sam to know he was enjoying this as much as he was. "Unless you wanna stick with your alien theory."

"You don't believe me?" Cas's head tilted, watching her fumble for something to say.

"But angels have…wings, and golden horns." Amy's confusion was plastered across her face, her mouth agape. "You look like a…really bad lawyer or something."

Cas raised his eyebrows lazily and inspected his shabby appearance. With her stunned expression, he seemed to have regained the confidence in his voice. "Oh, well, this only a vessel. My true heavenly form-"

"I thought angels were a little more clean shaven," she wondered, a questioning smile lifting her lips.

Dean and Sam snickered. She got him good there.

Cas sighed, rubbing the scruff. "It's been a long week."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean intervened. "So where've you been, Mr. Law and Order? Somebody clip your wings upstairs?"

Cas turned to look at him. Following his eyes, Dean watched the angel's gaze linger from his bandaged hand then up to the mirror. "My duties in Heaven have been very time-consuming."

"Oh, right. What's the apocalypse to heaven's house chores?" Dean shrugged casually, however his tight grip on the steering wheel and irritable glare. He glanced back to Cas, but only saw the surprise in Amy's face switch to full-blown shock. Sam must have noticed her wide eyes as well as he twisted to look at her.

"He's kidding," Sam lied.

Cas's cool expression tightened. "I _have_ been overlooking your progress while in Heaven. Deserting you was never my intention, I've just been…preoccupied."

Amy crossed her arms against her chest, interested. "If you've been watching us, "Mr. Angel"-"

"Castiel," he reminded her.

"Right," she nodded, skeptical, "then do you know how I ended up here?"

Dean eyed the two in the backseat instead of the semi infront of him. From her cock-eyed expression she looked as if she was trying to test the angel. To himself he hoped Cas would give them some answers on what Amy was hiding.

Cas's pale blue eyes traced over Amy's face, back and forth, as if reading a difficult text. His head tipped further as he leaned closer to her, squinting. "You appeared in the field, but by whoever's doing I'm unsure. Though it seems there's…background radiation reverberating around you."

Amy looked as confused as Dean felt. "Radiation?" Her smile rose then faltered. "Am I...gonna blow up?" she joked. The hard bend in Cas's brow didn't loosen, though.

"No, it seems to be stable. They appear to be particles." To Dean's confusion, Cas lifted a hand and tried to grab some of the imaginary particles, unsuccessful. The angel turned to Sam, shaking his head. "It's very strange. I'm not sure what to call it."

"Right, well," Dean figured, "All we need is another crazy person hanging around. 'Specially one who's radioactive."

Amy swatted at him. "Watch it, monster man!"

Dean chuckled, resting an arm on the seat. He pointed back at her. "The only person who should be listening here-Hey!" Dean jerked around to see who had grabbed his hand. "Cas, I kindof have to drive here!"

He paid no heed to Dean, and began to unwrap the bandage around his hand. "Your hand was hurt badly," Cas explained to Dean as if he hadn't been aware. The awkward position his arm was in made the ligaments in his shoulder twitch painfully. Dean grimaced, the air hitting the raw stitches on the back of his hand.

"Yeah, it's fine, now come on. I need to drive." Dean focused ahead so not close his eyes and pull away once Cas rested his fingers over the wound. However his gentle touch, Cas's healing tricks always hurt like hell. The pain came, pricking the back of his hand like a handful of rusty needles.

Amy drew in a quick breath. The pain in Dean's diminished slowly; he didn't have to look at it to know the flesh had mended under Cas's hand. Just as he was about to pull his hand back on the steering wheel, Amy took hold of it.

"You're really an angel," she gaped, her cool fingers running over Dean's knuckles.

Dean's heart thundered in his chest, his hand feeling twitchy all the sudden. "Yeah, no tricks there." He hesitated before bringing his healed hand up to the steering wheel, his eyes darting across the highway. "Thanks, Cas."

He could feel Sam's knowing gaze on him. By the sly grin creeping on his face, too, Dean could almost say his brother could read his mind. If so, Dean repeated a slur of curse words and don't-you-dare-say-anything's through his mind.

"Oh, Amy," Sam said, "We grabbed some food while you were out." He picked the bag up and handed it back to her. "Dean insisted we got you some…real American food."

Dean couldn't help but smirk at that, watching Amy dig through the bag. She lifted out a wrapped hamburger and the second pie. "A Double Stack Bacon Burger and a Baked Apple Pie?" she questioned.

"Welcome to America," Sam cheered drily. "We didn't even have to break a ten for that."

Amy smiled wryly at Sam and began unwrapping the burger. Cas cleared his throat again, making her turn.

"So," Cas started with a glint of curiosity and a slight smile, "Are you one of Dean's one-night-stands?"

The Impala shuttered in silence, everyone repeating Cas's question once more in their minds. Sam broke into hysterics before Dean could open his mouth in awe. Cas could be pretty clueless, he found that out long before. It seemed that Cas was able to go even a step further than clueless, though.

"A…what?" Amy asked quietly under Sam's belly-aching laughter. She skimmed her brown eyes over to Dean. Under her gaze he felt his cheeks burn.

Dean tried to chuckle along with Sam, but his throat felt tight. "Cas, that's…that's not what I meant when I told you what that means. Amy isn't..." He looked to Amy. "He's just kidding."

"No, by your definition Amy constitutes as a one-nighter," Cas shook his head. He looked from Sam to Amy, his light expression drooping. "Did I say something offensive?"

"When did you tell him what a one-night-stand was?" Sam laughed.

Dean was simmering. "Cas, just…shut up. You've already dug a big enough hole for yourself."

Amy was giggling, though. The innocent confusion in Cas's eyes, it wasn't hard to see that he was new to the rules of social interaction. She shook her head at Cas, the surprise from earlier long gone after seeing his complacent nature.

"You're a goof," she shoved him softly.

Cas's eyes rose in surprise, taking her comment as a compliment. He nodded slowly, the shy smile from before returning. "Thank you."

With Amy's attention on Cas, Dean could feel a tug in his stomach. She was so cool, taking anything they threw at her with ease. His steely glare relaxed after hearing her bubbly laugh. However unexplainable this Amy Pond was, Dean told himself he could definitely get used to her cruising in the backseat with them. She could keep running with them.

Dean blinked back to reality when Amy pointed a sharp finger at him. "So don't you be getting any ideas."

"From what?"

"From Cas's one-night-stand idea."

Dean raised an eyebrow defiantly. She wouldn't break, though, leaving him to shrug her stubborn stare off. "Not much for redheads, anyway." The lie filmed the inside of his mouth. Reading the subtle symptoms from his head and his heart, Dean guessed otherwise.

* * *

_ I had to cut out a few silly conversations, so I might post those as a separate one-shot later on. Being in the car so much, I always thought the Winchesters would one way or another end up doing something stupid to ease all the tension from hunting. Hope you enjoyed!_


	8. Bye Bye Birdie

_ A/N I am so sorry. So, so sorry that I haven't updated in awhile. I have a list of excuses to go along with my apology, but it's annoying and dumb ugh. I just need to get myself on a weekly update schedule, that should fix things. To answer one of many questions: I have no idea how long this will be. I have it planned out pretty well, but no control on length (I honestly never want the superwholock adventures to end). All your reviews have honestly kept me writing this. So, really, _thank you _and enjoy!_

* * *

The crooked spring in the back of Sam's seat dug into his spine as the Impala heaved over the pavement and onto Bobby's dirt driveway. He grimaced at the barbed end of the spring; however many times Dean and he had fixed up this car Dean always seemed to overlook that one kink. The sharp point only made itself evident as they lurched over the uneven gravel of the driveway. It marked their cross country trek was finally coming to an end.

The rows of aged cars passed by outside the window, crippled as they sat on their bent rims and rusted exhaust pipes. Sam saw all these totaled pieces of scrap metal as a landmark; he felt at ease seeing the junkyard, knowing that Bobby's place was a safe place. Nothing evil could manage its way too long here.

"Are you sure there's a house in here?" Amy asked. She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, the cool air pushing out the filmy smell inside. The car stunk like the end of a long road trip, a familiar stench to Sam. The sticky residue of energy drinks and fast food wrappers crunching under their feet, the oily texture of a couple nights without a proper shower; in silent agreement, everyone wanted out of the car as soon as possible.

"Oh yeah," Dean sighed. Along with the smell, the exhaustion tinged the air around them. Sam glanced over at his older brother and frowned. If he sounded beat, Dean looked even worse. The tired glaze over his eyes hardly focused on the driveway as they clung open only by the promise of sleep. Seeing him like that, Sam lost all reason to fight for the shower tonight. He knew how willing Dean was to give Sam near anything. His brother needed rest more than he did though; putting up an argument would only keep them up longer and make Dean cranky enough to shove Sam into the shower.

The driveway curved, crossing up to the front of Bobby's Victorian home. The dull maroon house stood sturdily against the evening sky, secure and trusting however the closed curtains and keep-out signs in front. Sam could see Amy craning her neck to see the house as they drove toward one of the mechanic garages.

Amy ducked her head back into the car."You said your uncle hunts too, right?"

Sam turned in his seat to nod back at her. "Yeah, why?"

Giving him a leerily raised eyebrow, Amy replied, "Because his house looks like it's haunted."

Sam chuckled along with Dean. "Never really noticed it before," Sam said, looking out at the house he had known his whole life. "It's a big house. Hard to make it pretty by yourself, I guess." He flashed a dozy smile at Amy and she was quick to return one as well.

Sam had come to learn quite a lot within the span of the ride to Bobby's. Or, morelike lack of knowledge when it came to Amy. She would talk little about herself, rather sidestepping their curiosity with her endless questions about them. They had tried seeing who she had run from, who her traveling friend was, asked how she had come across those stone angels all to no avail. At every question Amy would smile and say, " Maybe later." The more they asked, though, the more she had to control herself from saying anything. From what Sam could tell, it was like she wanted to tell them more.

Cas had even attempted to extract some sort of answers from Amy. Sam figured if his angel theory was right, Cas would recognize her and she would remember who she was. Looking back now, Sam saw that they hardly ever got a break that easily. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, had no idea who she was; the only answer he could make out of her was that she was radioactive. Cas definitely earned his gold star for the day with that.

Cas couldn't tell who had shot at them, either. That had surprised Sam considerably. With their streak of angels and demons of late, he had expected an easy answer to the problem with their motel showdown.

"As far as I can tell neither Crowley or Lucifer were involved with the shooter," Cas had told them. Dean didn't seem too happy about that one, but Sam hadn't expected any better news. "I'm unsure who else would attack you."

"Crazy people that's who," Dean had grumbled back.

The Impala now pulled past the house and into the mechanic's garage closest to the front door. With all these unanswered questions, Sam found it hard to relax completely. Could the shooter be another hunter? Was the shooter after Amy? Sam's mouth tweaked downwards. He was going to have a hard time getting to sleep tonight.

"Finally," Dean huffed, not wasting a moment to step out of the car and stretch. The Impala groaned and fizzled out; the car sounded just as tired as Sam felt. Amy followed behind him with a tired groan. Sam could hear her take an audibly long breath of fresh air. Sam stepped out, seeing Dean glance curiously over to Amy as she began picking up all the trash in the bottom of the car.

"Hey, you don't have to do that," Dean told her. "We can grab all that stuff in the morning."

"Do you want the car to stink any more?" she questioned him, pointing at him with an empty fast food bag.

"It doesn't stink," Dean defended. Sam couldn't help but chuckle at the poor lie.

Amy read Dean's lie, too. "Come on! It smells horrible."

"You smell horrible."

"You're a jerk that's what you are," Amy swung the fast food bag against his arm. However tired he was, Dean grinned at her flimsy swing.

That was the other thing that Sam had noticed within the last couple hours of the drive. Dean couldn't stop looking back at her, trying to make her smile or play name-the-song. Then Amy, in turn, would play tough and pout when Dean changed a good station or say something too cynical for her taste. He knew if he mentioned it to Dean he would be brushed off. No way they were flirting. But Sam had seen his brother roll out the cool smile and smoldering gaze more than once on a pretty girl. He just wished Dean had the decency to admit he liked Amy.

But in a way, it bothered him. A gorgeously tangled girl in a miniskirt who could take their kind of crazy didn't drop out of the sky very often. He had seen glimpses of Amy's fiery glow scattered amongst the countless strangers he had come across. Mostly, he could only see the similarities between Amy and Jess.

Thinking back, Jess felt like a smoothed over memory to Sam now, an accepted part of his past that had calloused over and was to be left alone. He had loved Jess undoubtedly, her wit, her playful banter. In his mind, she was a piece of his past that could never be replicated. Just the possibility of a girl matching her unshakable personality seemed impossible enough for him. Then somehow, Amy Pond slid in the backseat and shaped herself into an exception for Sam's assumption. He had forgotten what it was like to be immediately loved by someone just for the hell of it, to have a pair of beautiful eyes hold him with a deeply concerned and giving expression. Sam hadn't realized how much he had missed that kind of caring.

Sam jumped from his thoughts when a finger tapped his shoulder. "You okay?" Amy asked him. His eyes darted abashed as Amy held her gaze on him. Sam swallowed, fumbling for a sentence.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good. Just tired, I guess," he finally managed, trying to busy himself with his bag in the back. When Sam turned to look at Amy, she was staring back, obviously amused.

"Alright there, hot stuff," she smirked. She was shouldering one of Dean's duffels and the bag of collected road trip trash. "Dean's already inside. Come on, you gotta introduce me to Uncle Bobby."

Sam followed after her towards the front door. He looked her over from behind before matching her stride. No, he knew it was unfair to compare Jess to this skinny ginger girl. Jess was Jess, and Amy was Amy. Nothing else.

Looking ahead Sam could see the leaning figure of Bobby in the doorway, silhouetted by of the hall light. His ball cap appeared more worn and his beard a little longer from the last time Sam had seen him. An easy smile curled around Sam's mouth.

"Well, howdy. Didn't know I was runnin' a bed n' breakfast now," Bobby called out, friendly. "Woulda bought more food today if I'd known."

"Hey Bobby," Sam returned, taking the steps before Amy. Just as Sam was about to hit the top step, Bobby held a hand out in warning.

"Hold it a second. Damn swallow built a nest right in the rafter. Make sure to watch yer head." Up in the corner above the doorway, Sam could see the gray body of the swallow huddled in a nest made of dried grass and blue tarp strings. Sam dipped his head, his bangs hitting his face. Amy bumped into his duffel, making Sam turn carefully.

"Amy? This is our Uncle Bobby. Bobby, this is Amy." Her smile was careful, unsure what to expect from the middle-aged man. Sam had to admit, from a stranger's perspective he would be cautious of Bobby's scruffy appearance too.

" You sure you don't mind me staying for a night?" Amy questioned, between half-smiling at Bobby and glancing worriedly at Sam.

"Well, we're not gonna let you stay out with the bird are we?" Bobby answered before Sam could. He smiled warmly at her. Amy's nervous expression crinkled and warmed as well. "Come on, I've got another bed for ya." Bobby waved her inside, shooting Sam a sly glance. Bobby stepped next to Sam once Amy was through the door, mumbling, "Nice catch."

Sam scoffed drily and shook his head. Inside the house, Sam heard Amy crunch the fast food bag into the trash can.

"Can't we just chuck the bird somewhere else?" Dean complained from inside from what Sam could guess was the fridge.

"Dean, it's just a bird," Amy didn't wait to call back, wandering into Bobby's study. "Wow. This is big." Her eyes trailed over the bookshelves and the heaping papers on the desk. For a moment, Sam could see her forget her fatigue as her face lifted in unrestrained wonder.

Out of the kitchen, Dean wandered into Bobby's study, stopping next to Amy. "Well, it's in the way."

Amy rolled her eyes at Dean and thumped her duffel against his shoulder before setting it down."Then move your big head!"

Next to Sam, Bobby gave a humored sigh and shook his head. Sam glanced over to him. "Geez, they sound like an old couple," Bobby murmured.

Sam shared Bobby's small smile. "Try two days in the car with them."

His smile barely hid the budding pull that had latched in his chest. Sam knew he shouldn't be so attracted to this girl. However alike her and Jess were, Amy still wasn't Jess. Dean was all eyes on her, anyways, and Sam knew better than to fight over a girl who would be leaving sooner than later. Her friend would pick her up and they'd be off traveling the world again. She'd find some other guys to wander off with and eventually misplace their names. Dean would forget her, too, adding her name to his long list of lost numbers and what-if girls. She would become some sideways small talk on the way to another hunt, nothing more.

Anymore and Sam felt he couldn't fathom the dangerous knot Amy Pond would coil around them.

"Sam," Bobby snapped his fingers in front of his blank gaze. He stumbled, blinking down at Bobby. "Hey, bed's upstairs kiddo. Go get some shut eye."

"I'm fine," he assured even as his lids drooped. "Amy can take the bed."

"Isn't there another one?" she stepped in, the glint of concern she held on Sam making his heart tighten. Behind Amy, Sam could see his brother's flirtatious smile eat up his expression, becoming almost hungry. Sam had to bite back the need to snap at him. He brought his gaze back to Amy.

"Two upstairs and the couch," Sam pointed, throwing his duffel on the couch with the others. "You pick."

Amy bit her lip, not giving the couch a promising look. "I'll give the bed a go, I guess." Sam expected as much; if she as going to be here for one night he figured he could sacrifice the bed to dangle his legs over the couch for the night.

"Sounds great," Dean grinned in between them, gently leaning against her. "Sam snores anyway." He looked down at Amy and and lifted a beer to her in offering.

Amy ignored Dean's cheery gaze, though, looking to Sam instead. "They're...separate beds, right?"

Something lightened in his chest when she asked him. Sam smiled. "Yeah. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen-"

Dean cracked open his beer, trying to stop Sam short. "Y'know Sam's scared of the dark, Amy? Had to have a night light til he was _fifteen_." Sam snorted and snatched the beer out of Dean's hand before heading towards the fridge. " Look at, see? Won't even deny it." Sam shook his head. "Hey, I want that back, y'know!"

Amy giggled, wrapping her arms across her chest. She looked over to Bobby who could only roll his eyes at the Winchesters.

"I swear, I don't know how these boys haven't drove you up the wall yet," he muttered next to her.

Amy left not long after for the bathroom. " I bet my hair's a rats nest," she guessed as she headed up the stairs. Sam wanted to tell her she looked fine but was afraid she would suspect something more heartfelt in the simple compliment. After she was out of sight Dean didn't wait to join Sam in their usual fridge raid, Bobby trudging behind, too.

"So who is she again?" Bobby asked, pulling himself into a chair as Sam leaned against the counter eating cold ravioli leftovers.

"Amy Pond," Dean said grandly. "Fell out of the sky like a freakin' shooting star in the middle of the hunt in Michigan. Ran away from home and has some awesome taste in music." Sam caught Bobby's slightly repulsed stare as Dean filled his mouth with microwave warm spaghetti. Bobby turned his attention over to Sam.

"Dean got a new name-that-tune buddy," Sam explained.

Bobby nodded, obviously not impressed with their wealth of knowledge."Is that all you got on her then? She rode with you for three days and you don't even know her favorite color?" he reasoned skeptically.

Dean pointed his fork toward his brother. "Sammy thought she was an angel for awhile, but Cas busted that pretty good," he offered between a mouthful.

Bobby's brow creased, looking to Sam again. "You saw Cas?" He glanced from one brother to the other. "Geez, did he just get back from his three month vacation or something? I'd expect he'd have sent a postcard or something."

Sam shrugged in response, cursing his fork into the corners of the container. " He didn't stick around for very long."

"He couldn't figure out who she was either,"Dean added. "Said she was radioactive or something." Dean pushed back his empty bowl, reaching for an unopened beer instead. "But that's all we got on her. Just some stubborn, drop-out-of-no-where British girl."

Bobby stared at him tiredly." For a bunch of hunters, you boys sure are a bunch of idjits." He sighed. "So we're clueless, and she's not talkin'?" Sam and Dean nodded in unison. "Well," he shared a look between the Winchesters, "Looks like we've got quite a girl on our hands."

Sam swallowed the last of his ravioli. From the soft pull in his chest he could only agree with Bobby.

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_A/N I'm reaching into a lot of Sam and Dean's past, like S1 stuff in this fic, so refreshers may be necessary. I'm very interested in where you guys are thinking this fic will go. I read all of your feedback and it honestly inspires me a ton. But I'm working late this week and have a big test so hopefully I can post the next chapter by next week this same time. Thank you all _so _much for reading! Please review, fav, and follow!_


	9. Big Fish, Little Pond

_A/N So life is busy as ever. I wish they'd let me write a little at work. So I think I was a little unclear with a few bits of the last chapter: 1. Bobby isn't in the wheelchair here. Canonically, he is still in the wheelchair, but wheelchair!Bobby is a sad Bobby, and he's definitely sad in this story. To be specific as possible, this is before 5.13. Review, fav, and follow!_

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Dean could sense early on that something was off. The stuffy air in the bedroom was normal, even the sleeping body in the opposite bed didn't surprise him. The uneasy feeling made him want to stay in bed a few minutes longer, but he quickly kicked that idea out. Anything that made Dean's gut feeling wake him was something worth facing, not sleep through. With a groan, Dean slipped a hand under the bed for his knife and kicked his feet off the bed. He tried remembering what day it was.

At first, he figured the notion was just his groggy mind playing tricks; even with the eight hours he had been in bed, Dean had still managed his regular 4 hours of sleep. There was just too much to keep him up at night, and then having an unexplainable girl sleeping in the bed next to him.

The kitchen was quiet, only the smell of coffee to welcome him. Dean made his way over to the cupboard for a mug, not really wanting coffee but still too tired to make his own breakfast.

Dean paused once he glimpsed at the calender taped on the cupboard door. What he had supposed was a gut feeling before suddenly spoiled. A heavy guilt suddenly plummeted into his stomach, making the lines under his eyes deepen. It was an anniversary day.

Seeing as Sam had gotten the brains in the family, Dean had a pretty decent memory compared to his little brother. He could remember the exact conversation with the demon he had sold his soul to, then name off the city where Sam and him had their first hunt together. And he could recall his worst days just as well.

"Hey," Sam yawned behind him. Dean turned away from the calender and to him. From the mug of coffee and clean shirt he was wearing, Dean assumed Sam had been up long before him.

"Morning," he returned. He avoided Sam's gaze by heading towards a different cupboard. The hinges creaked by years of use; he figured the liquor cabinet had to be the most used door in Bobby's house. Dean leaned against the counter, setting down a tumbler with ice and a bottle of whiskey.

Dean cast his eyes onto the bottle and glass only, knowing Sam's gaze on him wouldn't be approving of his breakfast. "Dean, you know it's only noon, right?" Sam intervened eventually. The concern in his voice made Dean want to tell him off. He bit his tongue, though, knowing that Sam would be having a harder time with this anniversary than himself.

"Medicine time, Sammy." Dean took his time to fill his glass with whiskey. "Y'know with all this Michael and Lucifer crap, I'm taking time to enjoy the little things more. Good booze, women." Dean raised his glass and looked to Sam. He second glanced his little brother when Sam's face creased warily. "What?"

"You didn't..._do _anything with Amy did-"

"Hell no!" Dean shook his head, his face crinkled disgustedly. "She's…come on!"

"She's a guest?" Sam offered with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, a really hot one…" Dean mumbled into his drink. He hadn't meant for Sam to hear him, but nonetheless he was caught. Dean pointed a warning finger at Sam's still suspicious expression. "But, still, no."

Sam seemed to think otherwise. "Okay, well…" Dean followed Sam's worried gaze. "You still don't think you're hitting it pretty early?"

For a moment, Dean was stunned. Couldn't Sam remember the day his girlfriend died? That hunt had left such a dark stain on Dean's conscious. Sure it had been five years, but it was still the day Sam started hunting again after swearing he never would. For a long time Dean had to remind himself that Sam had chosen this life again, given up the prospect of creating something normal, and Dean didn't have to fight for Sammy to get it back. Dean had supposed his brother would have had half the bottle by the time he had woken up.

Dean turned his gaze from Sam. "It's nothing. Breakfast of champions, I guess."

He didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed when Sam didn't ask him further. The front door swung open then shut, the heavy sound of boots coming into the kitchen. Dean looked from Sam and across towords Bobby.

"Bird's still there, and I'm thinking it won't be moving anytime soon." Bobby sent a split glance between the liquor bottle and Dean."If yer lookin' for somethin' to drink I just made coffee, y'know."

Dean could read Bobby's subtle questioning, holding no interest in his concern. "This'll be fine, thanks."

Bobby's creased in disapproval, nonetheless dropping the subject and pouring himself a cup of coffee."Went out and saw the car. Now," he stared directly at the older Winchester, " I don't mean to sound impressed or anything, but yer guy sure could shoot. From that distance without hitting either you two _or _her." Bobby shook his head, taking a swig from his mug.

However the disclaimer, Dean's mouth twisted irritably at Bobby for a moment."So he was a good shot?"

"Either he couldn't hit the broadside of a barn or he chose not to clip you. I'm thinkin' the latter, though. Looks like yer dealin' with a pro, boys."

"So is this something new you think?" Dean asked generally.

"All I can figure is demon," Sam sighed. "They've been after us since...forever. I don't think they would stop tracking us anytime soon. And I'm positive they have the ability. Looks like any vulnerabilities we have they're trying to take advantage of."

"So, they won't let us sleep...what, are they gonna start poisoning our food, too? It just doesn't follow the pattern," Dean disagreed. "Maybe it was a demon. I don't know. But that was just one guy. Demons make coming after us a social event or something."

"So it could be anybody," Bobby concluded plainly.

Dean shrugged and swirled the drink in his hand. "Cas said the shooter wasn't an angel or a demon or anything we've seen regularly. So I'm thinking it's something little with a grudge. Got an opportunity to get a shot and took it."

"I don't know, boy," Bobby frowned. He pushed up against the counter. "To know what motel you were stoppin' at before you even got there...that's a little weirder than some bottom-dweller. And those were high caliber shots. If I knew better, I'd almost guess this is a sniper."

Dean's wrist flicked back another shot, the alcohol burning. He stared back at Bobby seriously. "So your saying it has to be a demon?"

"Demons?" A lighter voice slipped into the kitchen. They turned their heads, the feminine voice unfamiliar in the house. Amy smiled tiredly back at the three of them, curiosity awake in her sleepy eyes. "I thought you hunted the stuff that hides under the bed not storybook things."

Dean's tongue sat numbly. Seeing her dressed in an old flannel shirt of his and that denim skirt, Dean couldn't seem able to take his eyes off Amy. It wasn't as if she was drop-dead gorgeous in the doorway, or her ginger hair was messy enough to alarm him speechless. However he turned it, Amy was just eye-catching; a sunbeam in the old house.

Bobby cleared his throat, making Dean break his stare. "Bigger fish, suppose," he replied for them.

Amy nodded, convinced, glancing between the Winchester brothers' staring eyes. Her bare feet padded across the kitchen, a hand tugging through her morning hair. Dean caught her eye for a moment. The whiskey glass in his hand suddenly felt foreign as she smiled at him. He wished he could hide it from Amy's vision. He must look like some grumpy drunk to her.

Dean pushed the thought away, though, drawing up a quick smile for her. Her smile widened confusedly back at him as he stared.

"What?"

He shrugged again, a small huff of laughter leaving his smile. He hid the tumbler on the counter behind him."Oh, it's just I've seen plenty of girls wearing my shirts, " Dean said offhand, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "But I'd say you can really pull it off."

Instantly, Sam and Bobby's hot glares stung him. Amy's smile thinned into a pout as she glared up at him. Raising her hand, Amy gave a back-handed smack to his stomach, making his abs flex. He let out a cry between a yelp and a chuckle.

"Don't think I won't punch you," she chided. When she turned away from him, Dean could see Sam and Bobby hiding smiles. "But thanks." Dean grinned at her, noticing her own muffled smirk. "Do you have any tea or coffee?" She seemed hesitant to ask for coffee, obviously not her first choice.

"We've gotta fresh pot if you want," Bobby offered. Dean didn't wait to grab a clean mug from the cupboard behind him and hand it to Bobby. Amy smiled a thank you to the older hunter when he handed her the hot cup as she sat down next to Sam. Dean hadn't seen Bobby act kindly to many people outside of hunters, but he didn't seem to have to force a warm expression for her. They all watched and waited as Amy pulled out a chair next to Sam and wrapped the huge flannel around her waist. She turned back to the hunters with a smile, her large brown eyes holding them.

Dean didn't think Amy realized just how foreign she was in the kitchen amongst them. He couldn't even remember the last time a girl had come into Bobby's house. But Amy seemed oblivious to any awkward silences that came after, scooping a handful of dry cereal out of Sam's bowl.

"So what made demons the hot topic?" she broke the silence as she picked out the marshmallows in the cereal and popped them in her mouth. Sam didn't look too pleased, but watched her in silence.

Dean's curious smile skipped a beat, unsure. Sam looked to him, hesitant to say anything as well. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but Sam's silent reply was indecisive. Dean's lips folded into a frown briefly then turned to Amy's stare. He sighed. If she had gone along with their line of work this long, Dean knew Amy could handle the truth.

"We think the shooter was a demon," Dean explained, crossing his arms across his chest. He caught himself pausing when Amy coughed into her mug; probably in surprise, he guessed. "They've been riding us for a couple months now, so-" Dean stopped to watch Amy dribble her mouthful of coffee back into the mug.

Amy's scrunched expression loosened as she realized the pairs of confused eyes on her. A bright blush dashed across her cheeks. "Sorry, it's just...really bitter."

Sam cracked an amused smile at her, letting it gradually grow to a wide grin. Dean was stumped in disbelief from her apologetic eyes. He smiled genuinely and began to chuckle. The longer he shook his head at her, the easier it felt to laugh. The whiskey sitting behind him didn't appeal to Dean any longer as he laughed. He should have just waited for Amy to get up; she could have helped him forget the anniversary day.

Bobby chuckled. "Only black coffee here, darlin'. But, ah...I'm sure we have some sugar or creamer or somethin round..."

"Oh, it's okay. Really," Amy waved him back to his spot at the counter. "I'll manage." She stared down into her mug, obviously unsure.

"Geez, Amy. Okay," Dean took a deep breath, attempting to smother the last of his laughter.

"So demons?" Amy's gaze was bright on Dean, waiting for the next dose of unbelievable. "Like hooved feet and horns? Or...do they have vessels, too? Like Cas?" Dean's head tilted back in approval at her. Amy glanced between them for an answer, noticing their surprise.

"Yeah, like Cas," Bobby nodded. "But they're a little more popular and a whole lot more of a nuisance." Amy looked back in understanding, not a glint of doubt to be seen.

"You're pretty good at this," Dean nodded at her.

Amy raised an eyebrow slyly at Dean and tapped the side of her nose. "Notice everything, monster boy." Amy giggled, at him, but refused to waver off the topic.

"So why would demons be after you? Are they after Cas?" she asked, her concern for the angel plain to see.

"Well, no," Sam answered, "Cas is morelike helping us. It's a long story." Sam's lips tweaked amusedly when Amy tried another sip of her coffee. "Y'know...you don't have to drink it."

Amy shook her head, her mouth pinched tartly. "I gotta wake up." She managed one more sip before resting the mug between her hands. She looked up from Bobby to Dean. "So...you're best friends with an angel," Amy began observing aloud, "And you have demons trying to shoot you?"

"And then some," Dean shrugged.

"But pretty much," Sam admitted.

Amy shared a curious smile between the brothers. "And that's normal for you?"

"Crazy isn't exactly a never-changing thing, darlin'," Bobby replied, leaning off the counter. "I'm gonna go dig out that windshield for the car," he mentioned to Dean, "Be out in a few?"

Dean nodded at him. "Yeah, I'll be right out."

Amy leaned back in her chair with a new handful of cereal, watching the hunters with interest. The screen door clapped closed behind Bobby, leaving the kitchen quiet for a moment. Dean brought his gaze back to Amy. "You don't seem too fazed about the whole demons after us."

"Not exactly new to the Didn't-Know-That-Existed -Before game," Amy quipped back.

Next to her, Sam sat back, his face a mix of surprise and uncertainty. Dean could only agree with him.

Dean's voice hardened slightly. "Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I want to help." She turned to glance back at Sam. "You're hunters, right? Chase after the monster before it gets you? I'm up for a hunt with the Winchester boys."

Dean shook his head, hoping she was joking. "Y'know, most people get freaked when you just say monsters are real. And now you want to help us go after something you didn't even know existed five minutes ago?" Amy's back straightened and her gaze became firm.

"Remember that time when I fell out of the sky? Guess you could say I'm not exactly new to this kind of stuff." Amy's lips pursed defiantly. "You're right, I don't know anything about hunting or monster killing. But I know I can help. I'm gonna let you boys have all the fun, right?"

The light mood Dean had enjoyed evaporated. As Amy had defended herself, Dean's smile had pieced apart, becoming serious. "Look, your friend's gonna be picking you up soon and you're gonna book it out of her before you can even look back. Nothing you've gotta worry about, Amy." He tried to make it all sound finalized. Least of all he wanted Amy to get snagged into their mess. Their lives weren't something worth running towards. If Amy was good at running away, she should be running from this life of theirs.

Amy broke her determined gaze from Dean and stood up, walking to the sink. "Don't think that'll happen." She tipped her coffee down the sink, the splash the only noise in the kitchen.

"Yeah?" Dean played along. She refused to look back at him, though. Dean shared a wary look between Sam and Bobby. "Well what about your buddy?"

Amy scoffed and raised her eyes. "Catching a demon would be like taking him to the zoo. And he'd love to meet Cas!" Dean stared at her, feeling her stubborn pout grind down his patience.

"Look, this isn't something to joke around with, Amy," Sam warned softly. "You almost got shot with us already, and we weren't even hunting. Hunting it's..."

"Dangerous? Life-threatening?" She grinned wryly at them. "Geronimo."

"Did you _intentionally _drop out of the sky on us or something?" Dean blurted. She was starting to give him a headache now. Whatever sense he had began making of Amy suddenly didn't mean hardly anything. "Are you even afraid?" She eyed him blankly. "These things kill people, Amy. And they won't give a second thought about cutting us or you into strips."

Amy frowned. "I know, but-"

"I don't care," Dean's voice rose. "Y'know all this going out on hunts, the cross-country drives, it's not exactly a field trip. And it's nothing worth enjoying. So whatever fairytale idea you have on hunting, you can forget it. I'm pretty goddamn sure I've had enough people I care about get killed by sons of bitches like them, so I don't gave a crap about what you what to do. You're _not _going anywhere else with us."

Dean turned his back to Amy to grab the liquor bottle and glass. He refused to see the hurt he had inflicted on her; already he could feel the guilt in his stomach tumble like stones. He had already lost enough, and the thought of putting someone he had just begun to care about into the line of fire was too much. He wouldn't bring Amy into this, and if need be he would push her away to do so.

Pressing his lips, Dean chanced a look at Sam. The worried expression was back again, but Dean had to share it with Amy this time. Dean tore his eyes away.

Just as he left the kitchen and pushed open the front door, Dean could hear Sammy talking.

"He didn't mean anything," he was consoling her. "It's just...bad day."

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_A/N I've already started the next chapter, so that'll be out sooner. These last few chapters have been a little slow, but only cuz the rest are killers. Thanks for being so patient, guys. You are the bestest :3_


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